alyssa

climbing back up out of the ooze, out of
the thick black tar, rising up again, a modern
Lazarus. you're amazed at your good
fortune. somehow you've had more
than your share of second chances. hell, accept it.
what you have, you have. you walk and look in the bathroom mirror at an idiot's smile. you know your luck. some go down and never climb back up.
something is being kind to you. you turn from the mirror and walk into the world. you find a chair, sit down, light a cigar. back from a thousand wars you look out from an open door into the silent night. Sibelius plays on the radio. nothing has been lost or destroyed. you blow smoke into the night, tug at your right ear. baby, right now, you've got it all.

Ask

2816

169988

498

→

The mind is a superb instrument if used rightly. Used wrongly, however, it becomes very destructive. To put it more accurately, it is not so much that you use your mind wrongly—you usually don’t use it at all. It uses you. This is the disease. You believe that you are your mind. This is the delusion. The instrument has taken you over.

Eckhart Tolle (via anochercushion)

(Source: lazyyogi, via anochercushion)

4536

1233

→

James Vincent McMorrow : Hear the noise that moves so soft and low | HibOO d'Live

James Vincent McMorrow plays Hear the noise that moves so soft and low @ Paris (20101205)

→

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Sonnet XVII - Pablo Neruda

20425

→

livesoncoffeeandflowers:

Country Mile || Camera Obscura

I won’t be seeing you for a long while
I hope it’s not as long as a country mile
I feel lost

(via colourmegreenwich)

backward