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today i randomly logged on and realized one year ago exactly was my last post. strange.

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after so much time I feel the need now to leave behind a relic

that today I am filled with an unquenchable joy for all that exists

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[fallinyourtidalwaves]

i’m a romantic and everything i do is for love

[nahalism]

Chiharu Shiota, Becoming Painting (1994)

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Jedoch wenn ein Wandrer, der gelehnt steht an den Strom der Zeit oder aber sich die göttliche Weisheit beantwortet und sich anredet: Warum ist der Mensch? Warum ist der Mensch? – Aber wahrlich ich sage Euch, von was hätte der Landmann, der Weißbinder, der Schuster, der Arzt leben sollen, wenn Gott den Menschen nicht geschaffen hätte? Von was hätte der Schneider leben sollen, wenn er dem Menschen nicht die Empfindung der Scham eingepflanzt, von was der Soldat, wenn er ihn nicht mit dem Bedürfnis sich totzuschlagen ausgerüstet hätte? Darum zweifelt nicht,  ja ja, es ist lieblich und fein, aber alles Irdische ist eitel, selbst das Geld geht in Verwesung über –

[lylylylylylylylyly]

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you, the wind

carried away underneath some

open window mild dusting

attic‘s attic happy birthday

i‘m a bean

drink me from the corner

of your mouth

i‘m boiling

now i’m gone

[sbbrody]

“I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well. We’re not allowed to buy blackberries anymore because they’re mean to their workers and you read left-wing news sites. Till when? I asked and you said nothing. So that’s one healthy food off the list. I’m still buying pineapples and you’re still eating them. I guess you’ve never seen the websites about those. Nobody in this supermarket knows that I am a puma. This morning our cat rolled on the floor showing me her belly which I leaned down and rubbed. Beneath a backyard pine tree the neighbor’s cat was eating one of our cat’s moles—at least the moles we rent from the landlord for her. It’s so complicated staying alive sometimes. The voices of the collection agencies on the answering machine sound menacing. They’re paid to sound that way and they’re not paid much more than the people they’re menacing, which can get you thinking if you’re the sort of person who likes to think about that sort of thing. Other people subscribe to adventure cycling magazines and read about men who rode across Turkey in the late 1800s before anything was happening in the world. Before cantaloupes probably existed. When you could get an honest wage for an honest day’s blackberries. When we loved like fierce mountain storms, with the blood of eagles in our hearts, exchanging grocery lists that just said you you you you all the way down.”

— Christopher Citro, “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled with Shrieks” (via oofpoetry)

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[thunderstruck9]

Max Ernst (German, 1891-1976), Savage Moon, 1926. Oil on canvas, 55.2 x 46 cm.

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//feels like i'm on an asteroid //a shooting star

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