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̗̀ Fuck you' flip-flops ̖́

@broccolitcelli / broccolitcelli.tumblr.com

{Meteor spadł To nie meteor Wulkan wybuchnął To nie wulkan Ktoś wołał coś Niczego nikt}
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glorianas

how morally corrupt is your 19th century love interest on a scale of “aloof rich guy who doesn’t know how to express his feelings” to “has a secret wife in the attic” and “tries to dig up your grave so he can embrace your dead body”

#rochester i like them fugly
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atreides
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inderacinable
لا أستطيع أن أكتبَ عن دمشق، دون أن يُعرِّشَ الياسمين على أصابعي. ‏ ولا أستطيع أن أنطقَ اسمها، دون أن يكتظَّ فمي بعصير .المشمش، والرمان، والتوت، والسفرجل - I cannot write about Damascus, without the jasmine climbing on my fingers. I cannot say Her name, without my mouth getting overcrowded with apricot juice, blackberries and quince.

Nizar Qabbani, A Green Lantern on Damascus’ Door (via lesgardenias)

#poetry
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Helene Cixous. I was obsessed with this for a long time / obsession as a way of seeing / obsession as a working method / a dream we all know.

#hélène cixous#writing
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sansadaynes

“How right that the body changed over time, becoming a gallery of scars, a canvas of experience, a testament to life and one’s capacity to endure it.“

#got
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Midnight Door, “Everybody Is Dreaming,” Tomorrow Was (The Cello Quartets) LP (Music Is The Road Records, 2011)

Composer: Luke Janela

#music
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neverfeedthekraken
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mxtyro
And I, infinitesima­l being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind.

Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets (via arebirthofwonder)

#poetry
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