Stealing Rimbaud

“It's all been written so well by my betters, and what they wrote has been my joy.” —James Laughlin

[dream-of-phraxos]

[bethleighz]

Wassily Kandinsky

[erincrews-blog-blog]

We’re undone by each other. And if we’re not, we’re missing something. This seems so clearly the case with grief, but it can be so only because it was already the case with desire. One does not always stay intact.

Judith Butler,

Precarious Life: The Power of Mourning and Violence

(via

erincrews

)

Let’s face it. We’re undone by each other. And if we’re not, we’re missing something.

(via littletimechange)

[theindivisual]

Who sees the human face correctly: the photographer, the mirror, or the painter?

Pablo Picasso  (via crazeist)

[aimlessme]

[follow-ravenousrequiem-deactiva]

fuck

[sensiblebisexual]

I like it when posts like this are actually true

Zach Braff did an AMA on reddit a while ago and said the script would sometimes just say “Then Neil says something funny”

[razorshapes]

Flüchtig hingemachte Männer

[metaphorformetaphor]

and I hide in the forgotten things.

Salvatore Quasimodo, from “Island,” The Selected Writings of Salvatore Quasimodo (Funk & Wagnalls Co, 1969)

[2othcentury]

Keanu Reeves, 1989 © Deborah Feingold

[walterwhitemediocrity]

this is literally every art blogger on instagram

[xabji]

Protect Keanu

[observando]

One could say that artists are people who think naturally in highly patterned ways.

Helen Vendler (via observando)

[stealingrimbaud]

Whatever is your life, whether you are a motor mechanic, a dentist, or an astronaut, says [F. H.] Bradley, love is what you experience when you become aware what you really are--when the subject and the object becomes one, whole and indivisible. That is a 'real' experience--every other experience is a mere 'appearance.'

Ignatius Udunuwara, Univ. of New England, NSW; from "What Is Love?," on Philosophy Now (Issue 81)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

You too can be carved anew by the details of your devotions.

Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays & Other Writings (via violentwavesofemotion)

[viperslang]

These pages are not my confession; they’re my definition. And I feel, as I begin to write it, that I can write it with some semblance of truth.

Fernando Pessoa, from The Education of the Stoic, trans. Richard Zenith (Exact Change Press, 2004)

[metaphorformetaphor]

What on earth can you do on this earth but catch at whatever comes near you, with both your fingers, until your fingers are broken?

— Tennessee Williams, from “Orpheus Descending,” Plays: 1957-1980 (Library of America, 2000)

[journalofanobody]

A tragedy need not have blood and death; it’s enough that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the pleasure of tragedy.

Jean Racine (via journalofanobody)

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

And that is the precise heartbreak of the past: that is doesn’t return, not even when you don’t want it to.

Carrie Fountain, closing lines to “Restaurant Fire, Truth or Consequences,” Burn Lake (Penguin Books, 2010)

[redzenradish-photography]

Bowl of Stones

[kalliope-amorphous]

The photograph is a sensitive surface (like the soul) burned by the light that strikes it, and gnawed from within by the very things that allow it to exist: light and time.

Philippe Dubois (via ontheedgeofdarkness)