THE POETS CRY FOR MORE

"We all wanna die like movie stars", you said as you jumped from the height of our cutting room floor, while above us, glowing, exploding, our dreams burst forth in light and death. Hold me and tell me we'll burn like stars. We'll burn as we fall. Watch as city lights dance for us.

[ginger-meets-indie]

Full moon above the Acropolis in Greece.

[infected]

Laocoonte by Fabio Viale, Villa Maritime, Le Havre, France

Photo by sage_et_sauv4ge

[before-life]

by marina

[bnbgs]

墮落天使 FALLEN ANGELS (1995) dir. Wong Kar Wai

[she-is-ephemeral]

[13 August 1924]

[TO: Berlin]

[Prague?] 1

3–VII[I]–24

My delightful, my love, my life, I don’t understand anything: how can you not be with me? I’m so infinitely used to you that I now feel myself lost and empty: without you, my soul. You turn my life into something light, amazing, rainbowed—you put a glint of happiness on everything—always different: sometimes you can be smoky-pink, downy, sometimes dark, winged—and I don’t know when I love your eyes more—when they are open or shut. It’s eleven p.m. now: I’m trying with all the force of my soul to see you through space; my thoughts plead for a heavenly visa to Berlin via air . . . My sweet excitement . . .

Today I can’t write about anything except my longing for you. I’m gloomy and fearful: silly thoughts are swarming—that you’ll stumble as you jump out of a carriage in the underground, or that someone will bump into you in the street . . . I don’t know how I’ll survive the week.

My tenderness, my happiness, what words can I write for you? How strange that although my life’s work is moving a pen over paper, I don’t know how to tell you how I love, how I desire you. Such agitation—and such divine peace: melting clouds immersed in sunshine—mounds of happiness. And I am floating with you, in you, aflame and melting—and a whole life with you is like the movement of clouds, their airy, quiet falls, their lightness and smoothness, and the heavenly variety of outline and tint—my inexplicable love. I cannot express these cirrus-cumulus sensations.

When you and I were at the cemetery last time, I felt it so piercingly and clearly: you know it all, you know what will happen after death—you know it absolutely simply and calmly—as a bird knows that, fluttering from a branch, it will fly and not fall down . . . And that’s why I am so happy with you, my lovely, my little one. And here’s more: you and I are so special; the miracles we know, no one knows, and no one loves the way we love.

What are you doing now? For some reason I think you’re in the study: you’ve got up, walked to the door, you are pulling the door wings together and pausing for a moment—waiting to see if they’ll move apart again. I’m tired, I’m terribly tired, good night, my joy. Tomorrow I’ll write you about all kinds of everyday things. My love.

V

[rosecoloredgurl]

"Flowers for Vases / descansos" — Hayley Williams photographed by Lindsey Byrnes.

[jonasgrossmann]

gjon mili… jascha heifetz playing in mili’s darkened studio as light attached to his bow traces the bow movement, new york, 1952 @ life

[mustafacamurcu]

Nancy Fouts

[bookoffixedstars]

A root of black briony, ‘mandrake’, believed to have magical properties. Found in Headington in 1916. © The Pitt Rivers Museum, University of Oxford.

source

[love]

by Paul Hoi

[happyheidi]

(via)

[balmest]

jems_ru via instagram

[macrolit]

[macrolit]

1880 edition of The Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley (born on this day in 1792)

[justcatposts]

Hope this fits the sub: my cat snoozing on a sofa I crocheted for her 

(Source)

[sweetoothgirl]

baileys caramel cheesecake

[oamul]

[lesbianherstorian]

photo from the cover of lavender vision: for the gay women’s community vol. 1 no. 1, 1970