the all encompassing positive

(Source: newtalby, via gallantpig)


The Mirror (Andrei Tarkovsky, 1975).

(Source: communicants)


Maybe angels exist—
let’s say they are the light blazing on skyscrapers
in the evening. Let’s say they are bodiless lineaments of air—
and they are jealous of mortal flesh—

Perhaps they long for the scripture of touch. To taste a single,
scalding tear—they can’t imagine being so real,
Feeling so much – the burning salt-water
like holy oil. Perhaps cities are their favourite places—
all the violence, the dancing, the fucking—
let’s say they ride subway cars, and gaze at the
crumpled faces of commuters – their slumped bodies
abused and overweight and overtired. They love to watch fights-
the way two men grip each other in an alleyway
almost like lovers, and come away covered in blood;
it’s a waltz to them. They would be so lucky
to feel pain, to feel rage. They like factories; sit quietly
Beside blue collar workers for long hours, as around them
machines clank like the voice of God.
They like the way they eat at lunch break, like starving men—
each meal should be eaten like the first and last.

They visit clubs, too—the perfume of sweat and myrrh
The gaudy lament of the lights is a chapel to them.
They watch a girl bow her head; the white nape of her neck
Where the dark hair parts; the surrender of it
Inviting the pressure of a mouth—the quiet o
the secret hunger in the dark. Somewhere between
the amber lit window and the sweat drenched sheets
is a scripture they can never know.

Because they live forever, death to them is wondrous strange.
They congregate beside the boy dying at the side of the road
of a bullet wound, and even as the death rattles in his throat—
They envy him, for feeling the passage of the wind as it shudders
In spears of grass, singing holy holy, singing alive alive alive.
They watch, as though it was the touchstone of all things
how his mouth still opens to eat raw midnight
Even as the lifeblood tides away, like misspent love.


- The Sorrow of Angels, by paperswallow (via paperswallow)

(via sailingaugust)

"At 19, I read a sentence that re-terraformed my head: “The level of matter in the universe has been constant since the Big Bang.”
In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely face of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare."

- Caitlin Moran (via artvevo)

(via squeats)

me flirting: so what's the deal with having to exist as a physical entity


Nuclear test 15 megatons, Nevada, 1953, various angles.

(via intothepicture)


Japanese artist Azuma Makoto recently ventured to Nevada’s Black Rock Desert to launch a Japanese white pine bonsai into space. The artist also arranged a stunning bouquet with about 30 varieties of flowers from around the world and launched them into space as well. (via TwistedSifter)