@swdgf - Tumblr Blog

savedgame

I’m like if the Buddha was also a hater

#me

float-me-now

#gintama

oumaimas

Of Power and Time, Mary Oliver / Liana Finck for the New Yorker

Full Moon by Tao Lengyue

#art

luthienne

Childhood does not end in one fell swoop, as we wished it would when we were children. It lingers, crouching silently in our adult, then wizened bodies, until one day, many years later, when we think that the heavy burden of bitterness and despair we've been shouldering has turned us irredeemably into adults, it reappears with the force and speed of a lightning bolt, wounding us with its freshness, its innocence, its unerring dose of naivety, but most all with the certainty that this really and truly is the last glimpse we shall have of it.

Guadalupe Nettel, from The Accidentals (tr. Rosalind Harvey)

#words #o..kay……….

havingapoemwithyou

After many springs by Langston Hughes

Black Cherries

by W.S. Merwin

Late in May as the light lengthens toward summer the young goldfinches flutter down through the day for the first time to find themselves among fallen petals cradling their day’s colors in the day’s shadows of the garden beside the old house after a cold spring with no rain not a sound comes from the empty village as I stand eating the black cherries from the loaded branches above me saying to myself Remember this

#words

vanityschild-deactivated2026031

There's so many things you can just ignore

#me

thegodoffortune

pt 2

animated by mee :)) watch the full thingy here

#jjk

existential-celestial

“You notice it first as April ends and May begins, a change in the season, not exactly a warming—in fact not at all a warming—yet suddenly summer seems near, a possibility, even a promise. You pass a window, you walk to Central Park, you find yourself swimming in the colour blue: the actual light is blue, and over the course of an hour or so this blue deepens, becomes more intense even as it darkens and fades, approximates finally the blue of the glass on a clear day at Chartres, or that of the Cerenkov radiation thrown off by the fuel rods in the pools of nuclear reactors. The French called this time of day “l’heure bleue.” To the English it was “the gloaming.” The very word “gloaming” reverberates, echoes— the gloaming, the glimmer, the glitter, the glisten, the glamour—carrying in its consonants the images of houses shuttering, gardens darkening, grass-lined rivers slipping through the shadows.”

— Joan Didion, Blue Nights

#words