(Source: tipsygypsyforever, via mouthlikebukowski)
(via the-xanadu)
“Beauty, the world seemed to say. And as if to prove it (scientifically) wherever he looked at the houses, at the railings, at the antelopes stretching over the palings, beauty sprang instantly. To watch a leaf quivering in the rush of air was an exquisite joy. Up in the sky swallows swooping, swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with perfect control as if elastics held them; and the flies rising and falling; and the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now again some chime (it might be a motor horn) tinkling divinely on the grass stalks—all of this, calm and reasonable as it was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere.”
―Virginia Woolf, “Mrs. Dalloway,” published on this day in 1925
(via waitingformagritte)
Cy Twombly, Scenes from an Ideal Marriage, 1986
Acrylic and pencil on paper
(Source: likeafieldmouse, via waitingformagritte)
This is what I currently look like. Spring 2013
THIS SATURDAY WE HAVE
POEMS FOR YOU IN A BOO
KSTORE AGAIN YES YES YES
POEMS AGAIN AND READI
NGS OF THEM FOR YOU.
COME SEE:
RACHEL HARTHCOCK
BRETT ERIK GALLAGHER
HOLLY AMOS
ANGELA HIBBS
NATHAN MASSERANG
THESE LIMBS WILL BE HERE
WITH THEIR BODIES TO REA
D VERSE TO YOU. COME ON
E COME ALL TO THE FANTAS
TIC LIMB & BODY SHOW WHE
RE WE WILL NOT BE SHOWIN
G LIMBS & BODIES BUT THE
WORD-BASED PRODUCTS O
F THE GHOSTS HELD INSIDE
THEM.
7pm. Saturday, May 18th.
Uncharted Books, Logan Square.
Chicago, IL
Huzzah! My name is Rachel Harthcock IRL, come see me and others here read poems.
Give me your eyes, I need sunshine.
unreal
Take me to your trees. Take me to your breakfasts, your sunsets, your bad dreams, your shoes, your nouns. Take me to your fingers.
—
Margaret Atwood, Good Bones (via fassadenmensch)
Perfect.
(via killing-jessica)
(Source: larmoyante, via posh-lost)
Winona Ryder at the Mermaids premiere in 1989
(Source: virgineunuchother, via rightorder)
Yellow apple
star inside the apple
seed star quiet*
Walking up the Cummings’ quiet, red-earth road,
I think of you there, near the white-
ridged harbor: in a yellow kerchief,
in the blowing sunlight, you walk
along the concrete of the holding world.You hold it all to your chest, the blue day, night,
long coffee, long talk, —You hold
your kind, stumbling, sure
life in your hands.
Indian cloth, the goose-neck desk light …*
Basho spent the first twenty years of his life
apprenticing, his second twenty years
raising his family, the third twenty years
walking. Walking heretoday I saw him, Basho, at the far edge of the field
of winter wheat; and you alongside him;
his long black and white steps moving
not away; alongside.—Jean Valentine, “Birthday Letter from South Carolina”
Photography Credit Jack Picone
(Source: livescope, via chelsealscott)
