whatever major loser
Charlotte, "trying", Florida.
"We all arrive by different streets,
by unequal languages, at Silence."

Pablo Neruda, from “Still Another Day: XVII/Men”

(via litverve)

(via lifeinpoetry)


The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.

by Philip Larkin, The Mower (via fishingboatproceeds)

(via burialonthebanks)


Chado Ralph Rucci SS 12


Bishar Blues (2006)

(via spring2000)


Chris Schoonover

See-Through Blue bath.

Bellur Krishnamachar Sundararaja Iyengar
"Can we only love something created by our own imagination? Are we all in fact unloving and unlovable? Then one is alone, and if one is alone then lover and beloved are equally unreal, and the dreamer is no more real than his dreams." by T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party (via exoticwild)

(Source: theunquotables, via girlnah)


Ann-Sofie Back FW2011


A most beautiful space ~ St. Petersburg art studio of Arkhip Kuinji, a 19th century Georgian artist.  Who wouldn’t be inspired with this kind of natural light?

*Photographer Pieter Estersohn

(via girlinlondon)


Jesús Duque Cranny
"In the smallest theater in the world the bread crumbs speak. It’s a mystery play on the subject of a lost paradise. Once there was a kitchen with a table on which a few crumbs were left. Though the window you could see your young mother by the fence talking to a neighbor. She was cold and kept hugging her thin dress tighter and tighter. The clouds in the sky sailed on as she threw her head back to laugh.
Where the words can’t go any further—there’s the hard table. The crumbs are watching you as you in turn watch them. The unknown in you and the unknown in them attract each other. The two unknowns are like illicit lovers when they’re exceedingly and unaccountably happy."
by Charles Simic, The Magic Study of Happiness