le petit soldat

[with-grace-and-guts]

[suenoconflores]

with-grace-and-guts:

Juliun ~ VSCO

[tsun-zaku]

美奈子：黒田康夫　

話の特集 1976年11月号

[crittercorner333]

[natgeofound]

Modestly attired Japanese women wade into water to bathe, October 1928.Photograph by Kiyoshi Sakamoto, National Geographic

[miniaturewhiski-deactivated2017]

[kvlinine-deactivated20150908]

Koi

[privatesecret4thosewhoknow-deac]

[serenepristine-llc-deactivated2]

In a wash of ink and tears, my words are barely here, my clenched up heart has fallen, is frightened, of how you command me to see your fleshy, yet holy love. Yet, you lose your bright mind too far in the stars, so late at night. I know not the difference between the crab and the maiden; your passion versus my own, and do not care, silly one. Even my laughter here bears my weeping. Frau Serene; the mercury-silver two-sided coin! You are at once both a girl of few words, soul-trapping eyes and petal touches; my meek mime, and then, on the flipped side, you are dressed in nothing but your words and your pearls, coming on to me like moss, all without the fear of having to entertain your heart, without all the dark pressure of coitus. Everywhere hurts because your moss is not growing on me now, and my words are going away white! The moon is as pure and true as the night allows it to be. The night stifles. I am half-here and more spirit than skin. That is why you could not write about the sun… but in the mornings, you still do not run. Please don’t ever run, Serene. Mean it, Poetess, that I am worthy of all your love. I will become the wanderer, crawling to you, washing your tired feet, scolding myself for making them so sore from the fear of my ugly heart. Please don’t ever run. Step gently on me. I am yours. Yours.

Franz Kafka to Serene (via serenepristine)

[floriental]

Visit Original Link

radiohead vs. noir desir – reckoner vs. le vent nous portera

[vintague-blog]

[thecountryfucker-deactivated202]

[classicalliterature]

There are still so many beautiful things to be said in C major.

Sergei Prokofiev  (via floriental)

[hyacinthgirrl-blog]

[suenoconflores]

These close-up photographs of airline passengers awaiting takeoff are made from across the tarmac using a telephoto lens. The anonymous sitters are each tightly pinned in their oval porthole windows like the subjects of nineteenth century daguerreotypes-mementos of the departed before they disappear. Similarly, the uneasy conflation of proximity and distance recalls and expands upon the latent psychological tension in Walker Evans’ subway portraits, which were made with a camera hidden in the artist’s overcoat. Both haunting and melancholic, Schabel’s series is best understood as a poetic attempt to retrieve and rescue the world as it slips away-an apt metaphor for the photographic enterprise itself.

[floriental]

'When was that day when we have quarrelled, my love?' ‘I don’t remember. I just don’t consider these days as a life’.

Rasul Gamzatov (via floriental)

[esserea-deactivated20151207]

It is allowed to invent new verbs? I want to create one for you: I sky you, so that my wings may stretch out enormously, to love you without boundaries.

Frida Kahlo, from Passionate Letters, Abscondita (2002)

[tck-tck]

[suenoconflores]

Zofia Chomętowska - Jakub Chomętowski and lake Cholcza, May 1931

[floriental]

Standing on the wing

[floriental]

zаshtshееshtshауоushtshееkhsуа

the Russian word «защищающихся» (those who protect themselves). Lewis Carroll while travelling in Russia liked this word and wrote it down in English. The Russian word has 12 letters, the English one - 30. (via floriental)