and the rest is rust and stardust

I write. I read. I breathe. I start over again.

What would it be like
to live in a library
of melted books.

With sentences streaming over the floor
and all the punctuation
settled to the bottom as a residue.

It would be confusing.
Unforgivable.
A great adventure.

—Anne Carson (via avvfvl)

(Source: larmoyante, via poetsandwriters)

raboartcollection:

The title of the work is identical to a series of photographs by Huseyin shot in Odessa, showing curtains blowing in the wind. These images inspired an installation of hardened lace curtains, frozen in time and space. The work refers to the gesture of opening the windows to set free the soul of the deceased, as well as the idea of a spirit present in a room, mysteriously lifting the curtains to reveal its presence.
Gabriel Lester,Melancholia in Arcadia (2011)
All rights are reserved. Photography by Peter Cox. Rabo Art Collection

raboartcollection:

The title of the work is identical to a series of photographs by Huseyin shot in Odessa, showing curtains blowing in the wind. These images inspired an installation of hardened lace curtains, frozen in time and space. The work refers to the gesture of opening the windows to set free the soul of the deceased, as well as the idea of a spirit present in a room, mysteriously lifting the curtains to reveal its presence.

Gabriel Lester,Melancholia in Arcadia (2011)

All rights are reserved. Photography by Peter Cox. 
Rabo Art Collection

(via ygritthe)

With a beautiful girl I could have consoled myself that she was out of my league; that I was so haunted and stirred even by her plainness suggested—ominously—a love more binding than physical affection, some tar-pit of the soul where I might flop around and malinger for years.

—Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (via vvittgenstein)