Meraki @thisismeraki - Tumblr Blog

psikonauti

Marion Stephan (German,b.1968)

Der Fuchs ist zurück (The fox is back), 2010

Oil on canvas

90377

Vale of the White Horse by Homemade

anthro-apology

Anne Carson (2009)

Arthur S. Way (1898)

George Theodoridis (2010)

Ian C. Johnston (2010)

E.P. Coleridge (1910)

Theodore Alois Buckley (1892)

John Peck, Frank Nisetich (1995)

R. Potter (1906)

M. L. West (1987)

William Arrowsmith (1958)

Philip Vellacott (1972)

Michael Wodhull (1782)

Kenneth McLeish (1997)

David Kovacs (2002)

Andrew Wilson (1993)

Euripides - Original (408 BCE)

petaltexturedskies

Sylvia Plath, from "Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices"

petaltexturedskies

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

filmnoirsbian

I have so much love and respect for women who are honest about their own loneliness but also find the good in it like when audrey hepburn said “I have to be alone very often. I’d be quite happy if I spent from Saturday night until Monday morning alone in my apartment. That’s how I refuel” and when charlotte bronte said “I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself” and when jenny slate said “I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that there will always be a ribbon of loneliness running through who I am. But that’s why I want to do comedy, and why I want to connect with people. You can use that ribbon to be a part of a finer tapestry, or you can choke yourself out with it! Your choice!” and when mary oliver said “whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh & exciting - over & over announcing your place in the family of things”

saturniinne

mossy

petaltexturedskies

Some girl a hundred years ago once lived as I do. And she is dead. I am the present, but I know I, too, will pass. The high moment, the burning flash, come and are gone, continuous quicksand. And I don’t want to die.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

petaltexturedskies

Virginia Woolf, Passionate Apprentice: The Early Journals, 1897-1909

birthdaylobotomy

i want to go on a picnic. i want to be surrounded by wild flowers, eat chilled berries out of a humble straw hat, my puppy hopping through the overgrown weeds and occasionally looking back at me before cautiously hopping into higher brush, never out of my watchful view. i want to wear an old yellow dress and beat up tennis shoes, watch the ants march across my blanket, blow dandelion seeds into the cool summer breeze and let the bumble bees flicker around my hair. i want to walk through the grass without fear, i want to discover the hidden worlds my mind with unravel, hydrated on the golden nectar of such a sweet August day. i want to hold the youth of child but the weight of wisdom, to see the world in eyes ancient and new.