“I want the parts that you’ve tried to throw away – the parts that you were convinced no one could ever love.”
i hate when i lose things at school like my pencils and papers and life ambitions
Home-mades, Stanislava Pinchuk
Home-made tattoos for friends & friends of friends, playing with memory, space & geography turned back on the body, all completed as trades.
- Wildflower with galaxy spores: traded for tailoring
- Australian native lilacs & wildflowers: traded for a house-plant & a necklace
- Orion’s belt, drawn from memory: traded for dinner
- L: Twin Branches: traded for a wallet & necklace, R: A map of the NYC high line from memory: traded for the most amazing crystal
- Shield (Constellation): traded for house plants
- Solar Eclipse: traded for dinner
- L: Constellation (Diamond): traded for a drawing, R: Wolf with a city on its back: traded for a drawing
- L: A map within a firework exploding, marking north, Berlin, Vancouver & Melbourne in its rays, brother & sister before parting again: traded for whiskey, R: Twin Branches (Constellation): traded for a drawing
- L: Constellation like mountain: traded for home-cooking, R: Twin Branches: traded for whiskey
- A map of 4 cities between Melbourne (Constellation): traded for a drawing
Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep. You are in California, Australia, wide awake. Maybe love is always in the wrong time zone. Maybe love is not ready for you. Maybe you are not ready for love. Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type. Maybe the next time you see love is twenty years after the divorce–love looks older now, but just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe love is only there for a month. Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit.
Maybe love stays. Maybe love can’t. Maybe love shouldn’t.
Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to, and love leaves exactly when love must. When love arrives say, “Welcome, make yourself comfortable.” If love leaves, ask her to leave the door opened behind her. Turn off the music. Listen to the quiet. Whisper, “Thank you for stopping by.””
— When Love Arrives by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye (via dre-la-soul)
- Bastille - Pompeii
- Capital Cities - Safe And Sound
Pompeii © 2012 Virgin Records; Safe and Sound © 2008 Lazy Hooks and Capitol Records ; My mash-ups are transformative works and are protected by the DMCA’s fair-use doctrine.
Epigraphs from Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events as tweets
— Sylvia Plath, from The Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962 (via heliophobus)
“My mother tells me that when I meet someone I like, I have to ask them three questions:what are you afraid of?do you like dogs?what do you do when it rains?of those three, she says the first one is the most important.“They gotta be scared of something, baby. Everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”I met you on a Sunday,right after church.one look and my heart fell intomy stomach like a trap door.on our second date,I asked you what you were afraid of.“spiders, mostly. being alone. little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. oh and space. holy shit, space.”I asked you if you liked dogs.“I have three.”I asked you what you do when it rains.“sleep, mostly. sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain droplets race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my backyard for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”he smiled like he knew.like his mom told him the samething.“how about you?”me? I’m scared of everything.of the hole in the o-zone layer,of the lady next door who neversmiles at her dog,and especially of all the secretsthe government must be breakingit’s back trying to keep from us.I love dogs so much, you have no idea.I sleep when it rains.I want to tell everyone I love them.I want to find every stray animal and bring them home.I want to wake up in your hairand make you shitty coffeeand kiss your neckand draw silly stick figures of us.I never want to ask anyone else these questionsever again.”
— Caitlyn Siehl, “Three Questions” (via mystiquel)