Tom is Main @tomismain - Tumblr Blog

“It was not its fault it was an insect. An incomplete creature, without any backup copy. All of its experiences are gone forever. We can never know them. If there is a soul, it is equal in all living things. We all cling to the same brief, flicking windows in the infinite darkness. Except for clones. Clones are better.”

World of Tomorrow Episode 2: The Burden of Other People’s Thoughts (2017, Don Hertzfeldt)

All my lies are only wishes I know I would die if I could come back new

Jeff Tweedy

#wilco #ashes of american flags

skinsblo-g

I’m a bad person.

liquidlightandrunningtrees

“I relate to empty jars of honey. I run my fingers along their insides tasting the remnants of something sweet.”

— Zoe Lianne, Honey

Certain places act almost as totems and draw me back into specific points of time and memories, unable to go back to what once was or make revisions. I find that geography - locations in physical space are the most potent of time capsules - storing memories not only of my own, but of countless others who may have passed through the same space at a different point of time - ascribing meanings of bliss, sadness, loss, without contradicting one another.

#nostalgia #me

infinite-content

#beach house #victoria legrand

thefeelsarerealyo

There are moments here Only yours and mine Tiny dots on an endless timeline. La Dispute - Woman (In Mirror) Photo credit: storyofthislife

aliveandfullofjoy

“I do not have the mental or emotional capacity to deal with his loss. But sometimes, I sit in a chair, late at night, and quietly feel very bad. When the night is at its most quiet, I can hear Death. I am very proud of my sadness, because it means that I am more alive. I no longer fall in love with rocks.”

— Don Hertzfeldt, World of Tomorrow

quotesforintellectuals

“The places we have known do not belong solely to the world of space in which we situate them for our greater convenience. They were only a thin slice among contiguous impressions which formed our life at that time; the memory of a certain image is but regret for a certain moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fleeting, alas, as the years.”

— Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way