love, i hope we can be
"i wish the sky would rain down roses, as they rain from off the shaken bush. why will it not?"

It’s not all bad. Heightened self-consciousness, apartness, an inability to join in, physical shame and self-loathing—they are not all bad. Those devils have been my angels. Without them I would never have disappeared into language, literature, the mind, laughter and all the mad intensities that made and unmade me.
Moab Is My Washpot, Stephen Fry
always

stay hungry
stay foolish

some things don’t need the thought you give them


The Awakening (2011)
ohverytired:

by KT Smail
(via EATDRINK - Sticky Fingers Bakery presents ‘Hungry Eyes’ screenings - Three Thousand)
it’s all about perspective

i have everything
i have enough
i have not much
i have nothing

i have nothing
i have not much
i have enough
i have everything

goodbye to all that

then: there is no standout or immensely affecting event that i can put pen to paper about, rather last year has been peppered with things to keep very quiet about, with insights and realisations that have quietly changed me, shook layers upon layers of rigidity that define me and collapsed them to what i feel as stillness and certainty. it is quite a bold thing to say because i don’t know very much and it may be when i am writing this and where (funnymen and the influence of Ms. G’s desserts) that have amalgamated to impart this sense of contentment so liberating that i am compelled to make it last forever.

now: the past year has seen ruthless winds blow me unsteady and sorry situations test the strength of my heart, but i have come to terms with the unchangeable: i am a wavering soul and i always will be.

hello: someday, this year, possibly, i will stop detaching so easily from myself, that is to say no more separations and departures, and instead grow to admire my repertoire of strengths and the sheen, not the sigh, of my heart. i must learn to untake things for granted and grasp the meaning of loving oneself (before loving others).

goodbye: to my garden of shrinking violets, to ghosts that come and go, stranded beginnings and never ending feelings, goodbye to doubt and the undesirable, goodbye, goodbye. life’s impatient eyes are infinitesimally gleaming at me; the future is here and it never looked more promising.

allaboutthepast:

Picnic, 1940s