"What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the words I have read in my life."

Walt Whitman

(Source: mythologyofblue, via lifeinpoetry)

i’ve dreamt of supernovas and stars realigning. time and space separated and colliding back in exploding, pulsating harmony that when magnified, wrought incessant power. abstinent of existance, ever evolving and rebalancing itself.

at work today i was serving this woman and asked where her accent was from and she said Sweden. I told her i was there about two months ago blah etc and told her i was into design and liked Acne Studios from Stockholm and she said the creative director was her cousin. Long story short after an hour of talking etc she invited me to come with her to meet him if i go back there.


Lynda BenglisBaby Contraband1969Poured pigmented latex1 1/2 x 79 x 20 inches


Lynda Benglis
Baby Contraband
Poured pigmented latex
1 1/2 x 79 x 20 inches

(via agibevan)


I love the dark hours of my being.

My mind deepens into them.


Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Book Of Hours (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via lifeinpoetry)

"Then, the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally :
Then the trees may touch me for once,
and the flowers have time for me."

Sylvia Plath, from “I Am Vertical,” in Arbres d’Hiver, p. 68, NRF, Poésie/Gallimard,1999

(Source: slak, via lifeinpoetry)

So you’re sitting up at night, alone, listening to music. It feels like a zephyr of fresh air is flooding the halls. Filling the entire house. The silent humming sound of the transient voices vibrate through it. And you can feel the unoccupied space in the room. You can taste the light moving through it. For once, in the 9 years you’ve lived in this house, you finally feel something towards it. It’s mesmerising, like watching stars through clearing moonlit clouds.

I gotta get some d

Famous Negro Athletes, 1981Jean-Michel BasquiatOilstick on paper58 x 88.5cmCollection of Glenn O’Brien

Scanned from Basquiat, published by HATJE CANTZ

Famous Negro Athletes, 1981
Jean-Michel Basquiat
Oilstick on paper
58 x 88.5cm
Collection of Glenn O’Brien

Scanned from Basquiat, published by HATJE CANTZ

I feel space. I am not hollow,but ever-expanding. Feeling in unison
the past, present and future endeavors,
emotions, struggles and virtues
of time and creativity. Stars aligned, and
magnify through, vibrations. The grace of this
anomaly stronger than the sun.
Bursting, burning, exploding power and turbulence
within the skin. A container that is unleashed
on the final close. Gratuitous flowers grow
and energy released. Blisters broken like bone china
and the rotations in emptiness that shelters and nourishes
the remains as if cement was all that formed them.
But I am space, feeling it
flow through, and will. Will to be what it has done before -
creation of the vicious terrain contained all throughout.
The insipid and cruel toxicity.
Fraudulent unconditioned
ways of explorations.
Space is within,
but it is not hollow.