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I'm a Junkie. Depressively happy; If that's even possible.

[amsingh]

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Out Of Time Man - Mick harvey

[anilag]

here we go 2016, let’s try and draw every day yeah you were fine yesterday and you’ll be fine tomorrow

[thisblankpage]

Jordi Savall - Üsküdara 

 From the concert at Léonie Sonnings music price 2012, given to Jordi Savall. At the Trinitatis church in Copenhagen First they play the song in four different versions, then a recorded version of Montserrat Figueras, before the big finish.

[typewriterdaily]

Even if I’m not well, I hope that you are. And that you’ve found some silence tonight and some peace in that silence.

[kriemhildsrevenge]

Jacques Callot: Deadly Sins / Ira

Anger: male figure in classical armour, with shield and sword, arms outstretched; with demon hovering over, and lion at his feet; on white ground.  c.1618/25 Etching, with some engraving

[danskjavlarna]

How to find the Maid in the Moon, from 1896.  This discovery was also featured in an astronomy book, which we noted previously [here].  Recall also our proof that the Mona Lisa’s facial features correspond to the lunar landscape.  

[metaphorformetaphor]

“Can I ask you another question? How did it start?” “How could I begin to tell you? Things like that are so long and so complicated, and sometimes I really think they are a little beyond me. It would mean going so far back that I feel tired before I start. But on the whole I think things happened to me as they do to anyone else, no differently.”

Marguerite Duras, from The Square (Grove Press, 1959)

[ducissatenebrarum]

Cornelius Cort - St. George killing the dragon, Dutch 16th century engraving

[sjovris-deactivated20160916]

You are irredeemably alone.

[plurdledgabbleblotchits]

One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment.

Hart Crane

[georgy-konstantinovich-zhukov]

Zapatistas enter Mexico City in late 1914, after Zapata and Villa broke with the Constitutionalists at the Convention of Aguascalientes and refused to acknowledge Carranza’s government, which soon fled to Veracruz. The arrival of the army of southern peasants was of great concern to the citizens of the city, who had been fed a steady diet of horror stories of Zapatista behavior by the media.

(Fototeca Nacional del INAH)

[ducissatenebrarum]

Jean Duvet

[heteroglossia]

I held myself too open, I forgot that outside not just things exist and animals fully at ease in themselves, whose eyes reach from their lives’ roundedness no differently than portraits do from frames; forgot that I with all I did incessantly crammed looks into myself; looks, opinion, curiosity. Who knows: perhaps eyes form in space and look on everywhere. Ah, only plunged toward you does my face cease being on display, grows into you and twines on darkly, endlessly, into your sheltered heart. As one puts a handkerchief before pent-in-breath- no: as one presses it against a wound out of which the whole of life, in a single gush, wants to stream, I held you to me: I saw you turn red from me. How could anyone express what took place between us? We made up for everything there was never time for. I matured strangely in every impulse of unperformed youth, and you, love, had wildest childhood over my heart. Memory won’t suffice here: from those moments there must be layers of pure existence on my being’s floor, a precipitate from that immensely overfilled solution. For I don’t think back; all that I am stirs me because of you. I don’t invent you at sadly cooled-off places from which you’ve gone away; even your not being there is warm with you and more real and more than a privation. Longing leads out too often into vagueness. Why should I cast myself, when, for all I know, your influence falls on me, gently, like moonlight on a window seat.

Rainer Maria Rilke, “To Lou Andreas-Salome” 

[nevver]

Winai Namwong

[typewriterdaily]

The Blue Octavo Notebooks- Franz Kafka

The more I read of Kafka, the less I understand of him. His writings are, at least partially, enigmatic and obscure to me. They are deeply introspective, but I read them vaguely, as if he is talking about a person far away. There seems to be no body to speak of. I have to remind myself the body and feelings Kafka is speaking of could very well be his own. Kafka talks about himself as if through a back door, through dialogue, through fiction, through philosophy, through the mouths of others.

[lifeinpoetry]

Alone I know the days / Are still-born, and the world stopped, lacking you.

Amy Lowell, from “From One Who Stays” 

[aseaofquotes]

Mercedes Lackey, Exile’s Valor