marooned marla

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when i got home, i got home

this one is for the past — K’s mum and the beautiful people she raised on her own; to the future — E’s baby in her belly [how happy you will be], and also for the present… priceless grey eyes

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7 days. [more on this later]

(Source: pushthemovement)

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[only matisse can send self to bed]

via proustitute:

Henri Matisse, 1949

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[and I, who thinks B is twat]

nevver:

Bukowski

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It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living, I want to know what you ache for. It doesn’t interest me how old you are, I want to know if you are willing to risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine. It doesn’t interest me where you live or how rich you are, I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and be sweet to the ones you love. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and truly like the company you keep in the empty moments of your life.

[can we make this part of the census?]

via Jon Blais (via youbroketheinternet)

(Source: idterab, via rayshaftoflight)

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[there’s plenty of tumblr-dry days, today is not one of them]

via likeafieldmouse:

Tom Mannion - Worn-out Stairs (2011)

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[this makes me inhale and —not exhale— for a wee bit]

via photojojo:

For ten years running, the Smithsonian Magazine has been curating one of the best user-submitted photo contests around. They’ve released their top ten photos for five different categories.

Finalists Released For Annual Smithsonian Photo Contest

Images by Sonya Kanelstrand and Jason J. Hatfield; via 123 Inspiration

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Tacita Dean, an all time favourite via Sweet Billy Pilgrim’s Twice Born Men album art [and Tate Britain]

via: invisiblestories

Tacita Dean, from the series The Russian Ending, 2001 (via selfnonself)

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[i honestly thought… [is there a way of not thinking honestly?]]

via invisiblestories:

“He had established everywhere an ebb, a sorrowful withdrawal.” — Julien Gracq

“But I know what darkness is, it accumulates, thickens, then suddenly bursts and drowns everything.” — Samuel Beckett

“Why did you allow brambles to cover/ That high silence you’d arrived at?” — Yves Bonnefoy

[Image: Edward Hopper, Stairway. 1949)

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Stornoway ~ The Coldharbour Road

i am a seabird, you are the artic ocean; i know your seasons and your sanctuaries. and when i’m wheeling over your wild white horses, i know there’s nowhere else where i belong.

i am a small town, you are a tornado; and down the high street you tear into me, bring down power lines and twist the heart right out of me, leaving my outskirts devastated.

and, as you’re going, tears are flowing. ‘cause, while you’re leaving, i’m still believing.

you are a memory, i am the mind you enter; a single moment in a single bed. this is the feeling you are bringing back to me, of when i was in the cold harbour road.

and, now you’re going, tears are flowing. ‘cause while you’re leaving, i’m still believing it all in the morning; my ears are ringing, as i lie wide awake on the living room floor.