August 2010
2 tags
The term narcissist often implies a negative meaning, one drowning in a sea of self-love and admiration. Yet on one hand, this “distorted” characteristic is a mechanism against auto phobia, and is a highly skillful ability as the result of speculation towards self-identity. Living in the age of community and communication, we have witnessed the representative psychosis shifting from a...
3 tags
“This generation is conscious of the shape they are creating. They check the...”
– Source
via harpy
3 tags
“botanical, basing her shapes on the scroll-like forms of orchids..”
Micro-paneled lace dress Anne Valérie Hash, Fall 2008 Couture
via harpy
1 tag
Each human being swims within a sea of faint suggestive imagery. It is this web of pressures, currents and suggestions, something often so much less definite than pictures, which ties our fugitive present to our past and future, composing a globe of consciousness. We think with our body, with its yearning and shrinkings and its ghostly walkings.
Iris Murdoch, 1982
via harpy, visart
4 tags
5 tags
5 tags
1 tag
“He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.”
– Elbert Hubbard
1 tag
furosha
n. the eerie tranquillity of fast-moving clouds, who pass through your patch of the sky like a wind-weary drifter stepping into your entryway to warm up for a minute, ruffling the ice from his beard before he nods his gratitude, closes his ragged coat and youthful eyes and turns back into the air.
via dictionaryofobscuresorrows
3 tags
3 tags
1 tag
Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind, in the commonplaces of the asylum where the cracked mirror or my own selfish death outstared me … I tapped my own head; it was glass, an inverted bowl. It’s small thing to rage inside your own bowl. At first it was private. Then it was more than...
4 tags
5 tags
4 tags
1 tag
She is standing on my lids And her hair is in my hair She has the colour of my eye She has the body of my hand In my shade she is engulfed As a stone against the sky
She will never close her eyes And she does not let me sleep And her dreams in the bright day Make the suns evaporate And me laugh cry and laugh Speak when I have nothing to say
Paul Eluard, L’amoureuse [tr.by Samuel...
4 tags
“I love you”
2 tags
Ideas came to us simultaneously. I remember once being made aware that she was sharing in her mind a thought which had just presented itself to mine, namely: ‘This intimacy should go no further, for we have already exhausted all its possibilities in our respective imaginations: and what we shall end by discovering, behind the darkly woven colours of sensuality, will be a friendship so...
1 tag
“Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?”
– Frida Kahlo
1 tag
1 tag
Lean down, lean down while the light’s abducted, its last skirts caught then torn through the trees. Keep your own eye still so no one catches you. When it’s gone, it’s everywhere— air a memory of light, incident turned ambient, and it never takes long for this nacre to grow over each absence or intruder and become the world. Lean down now, creel of starlight and moon, ...
4 tags
1 tag
“Her eyelids will have turned to violets,
Her bosom to white lilies, and her...”
– Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Excerpt from A Shadow of the Night
2 tags
1 tag
Most of us are never conceived. Many of us are never born- we live in a private ocean for hours, weeks, with our extra or missing limbs, or holding our poor second head, growing from our chest, in our arms. And many of us, sea-fruit on its stem, dreaming kelp and whelk, are culled in our early months. And some who are born live only for minutes, others for two, or for three, summers, or...
2 tags
4 tags
1 tag
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the...
1 tag
“I have been thinking about the girl I met last night in the mirror: dark on the...”
– Lawrence Durrell, The Alexandria Quartet
3 tags
2 tags
Consider →
The word consider comes to us from around 1350 CE, and it traces its origins through the Middle English consideren and the Latin considerare, both words meaning with the stars or in the company of the stars. Those origins are shared with other English words like constellation and sidereal, the former describing a whole group of stars glowing up there in the night sky, and the...
5 tags
Source
2 tags
“It is a pity indeed to travel and not get this essential sense of landscape...”
– Lawrence Durrell, Spirit of Place: Letters and Essays on Travel
3 tags
Tom Waits, Dead and lovely...
2 tags
“sinews of the heart”
3 tags
6 tags
Madame Grès, 1960-1980
1 tag
I do not mean the symbol of love, a candy shape to decorate cakes with, the heart that is supposed to belong or break;
I mean this lump of muscle that contracts like a flayed biceps, purple-blue, with its skin of suet, its skin of gristle, this isolate, this caved hermit, unshelled turtle, this one lungful of blood, no happy plateful.
All hearts float in their own deep oceans of no light,...
1 tag
It was quiet in the waiting room of the remote little station, except for the night sounds of insects. You could hear their embroidering movements in the weeds outside, which somehow gave the effect of some tenuous voice in the night, telling a story. Or you could listen to the fat thudding of the light bugs and the hoarse rushing of their big wings against the wooden ceiling. Some of the bugs...
3 tags
1 tag
The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment, The illusion of a Greek necessity Flows in the scrolls of her toga, Her bare Feet seem to be saying: We have come so far, it is over. Each dead child coiled, a white serpent, One at each little Pitcher of milk, now empty. She has folded Them back into her body as petals Of a rose close when the garden Stiffens and odors bleed...
3 tags
1 tag
There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.
Diane Setterfield,The Thirteenth Tale
via harpy
2 tags
2 tags
“I realized then the truth about all love: that it is an absolute which takes all...”
1 tag
“I prefer to call it ‘pure’ — minimal can be very empty.”
– Jil Sander
2 tags
