billyjane:

Carlo Mollino

from Strawberige

(via gills)

darksilenceinsuburbia:

BECHA. Untitled Places. Convertirse en una Mujer (detail).

Variation On the Word Sleep
Margaret Atwood

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 silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

surrealism:

Entree des vierges sages (Entrance of the wise Virgins) by Felix Labisse, 1963. Oil on canvas, 73 x 54cm.

Definitely A favourite

(via kirgiakos)

marsiouxpial:

1964. United States.

(Source: cocoroachchanel)

Do me a favor and take

Your love, take it

Out and let it dry, let it ferment   

and maybe then, but only then,

Maybe

Will it be enough for me, strong enough

For me, a love fond enough of me

To leave me spiraling

After just one sip

Grow  strong, strong

Enough to make me forget, make me

Yearn for the chance to make

Love, sweet love, make me forget

That your love is not sweet

Or better yet take it

Out and tie it up, your love

suffocate it, a rainbow asphyxiated let the colors seep

And odors drain, let the insides rot until the sweet smell

Passes by my window and I know that your love

Is no longer.

foralskelse:

You

Were what you are not now, now you are what you were not, and you are
Open and ever-ripening and far less than what you may become or be
Within the future’s bewildering reality

-Delmore Schwartz

The sun loves me so

he infuses like ski poles

into my snow white skin, his rays

invade every inch I dare uncover and I beg

for more.

Lower my back to the earth and I feel him, the sun

above me, his warmth

make even the back of my eyelids glow.

Seep out through my pores,

beads of perspiration

grow like cancer cells, leave me flooded

in bliss until he rises from

above me and darkness expands,

snow white skin

crisped pink.

(via thethoughtloft)