(via grapholalia)


Passing Through A Screen Door
The Wonder Years
The Greatest Generation

nathanieljesse:

Jesus Christ, I’m 26
All the people I graduated with,
All have kids, All have wives,
All have people who care if they come home at night
Well, Jesus Christ, did I fuck up?”

(via deeathxgrip)


pixography:

Sam Wolfe Connelly ~ “Bound by Dusk”, 2014

pixography:

Sam Wolfe Connelly ~ “Bound by Dusk”, 2014


pixography:

Salvador Dali ~ “Galatea of the Spheres”, 1952

The Galatea of the Spheres is a marvelous portrait of Salvador Dali’s wife known as Gala. Gala was born Elena Ivanovna Diakonova (7 September 1894 – 10 June 1982) in Russia, to a family of intellectuals. Dali first met Gala in 1929 while working on the film Un Chien Andalou with Luis Bunuel- Gala was the wife of another Surrealist, Paul Eluard. Salvador Dali seduced Gala away from Eluard. In 1934 Dali and Gala were married in a civil ceremony in Paris and in 1958 the church permitted a Catholic ceremony (Gala’s former husband died in 1952) and forever after she became known as Gala Éluard Dalí. Gala managed Dali’s business affairs for their entire marriage a task to which the artist was unsuited. Salvador Dali considered Gala his world and his saviour and signed many of his works with her name. <source>

pixography:

Salvador Dali ~ “Galatea of the Spheres”, 1952

The Galatea of the Spheres is a marvelous portrait of Salvador Dali’s wife known as Gala. Gala was born Elena Ivanovna Diakonova (7 September 1894 – 10 June 1982) in Russia, to a family of intellectuals. Dali first met Gala in 1929 while working on the film Un Chien Andalou with Luis Bunuel- Gala was the wife of another Surrealist, Paul Eluard. Salvador Dali seduced Gala away from Eluard. In 1934 Dali and Gala were married in a civil ceremony in Paris and in 1958 the church permitted a Catholic ceremony (Gala’s former husband died in 1952) and forever after she became known as Gala Éluard Dalí. Gala managed Dali’s business affairs for their entire marriage a task to which the artist was unsuited. Salvador Dali considered Gala his world and his saviour and signed many of his works with her name. <source>


Aren’t We All

Are we all just struggling

to brush out of our minds

the creeping anxieties of

being so concerned with

all the pursuits the others search out,

are we all just crippled with 

the encroaching burden of expectations,

metered out with each new

expression of success

and the value of our journeys being

called into question,

are we all just bumping heads 

and putting on masks,

facing each new day with

the monkey of money on our backs,

unable to assuage the soul because

we’re hurting for our elemental homes?


Conjecture and Embellishment

Fresh from the country landscape,

and twisting old ideas into

brand new confectionery.

Toying with possibilities without

counting the costs,

for there are no longer any

implicit reasons not to try for

any certain and personal greatness.


We think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.
 Pema Chödrön (via purplebuddhaproject)

(via grapholalia)


(via girlinlondon)


When you feel perpetually unmotivated, you start questioning your existence in an unhealthy way; everything becomes a pseudo intellectual question you have no interest in responding whatsoever. This whole process becomes your very skin and it does not merely affect you; it actually defines you. So, you see yourself as a shadowy figure unworthy of developing interest, unworthy of wondering about the world - profoundly unworthy in every sense and deeply absent in your very presence.
Ingmar Bergman (via evasives)

(via violent-breeze)


In Forward Projection

Last laugh and dance

on the subtle side of older memories.

Fresh foraging for new adventures,

tacitly waiting in the wings.

Pressure to believe, and connect,

to represent truth at every juncture.

A new ripcord, 

facilitating a jump and fall and grasp—

new visceral frenzy to confront.

Same set of tools I’ve been collecting.

Same prevalent creative influence knocking.

Soul and heart to the sky,

and may the moon move with trajectory beaming

only setting my stride toward promise.

Lost amid the foreign tongues,

my lust for love and life abundantly sated.