let's advance and change everything,

but leave these little oases in case the heart gets thirsty in route.
~ Monday, February 15 ~
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the beat hotel goes to oxford

  • gregory corso: are birds spies?
  • w. h. auden: no, I dont think so. who would they report to?
  • allen ginsberg: the trees.

~ Sunday, January 31 ~
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It’s everybody, I mean. Everything everybody does is so—I don’t know—not wrong, or even mean, or even stupid, necessarily. But just so tiny and meaningless—and sad-making. And the worst part is, if you go bohemian or something crazy like that, you’re conforming just as much as everybody else, only in a different way.
— franny & zooey

~ Thursday, January 28 ~
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convincing sarah fess to come out.

  • me: wait, are you coming!?!?! YAY!!!!
  • sarah: well im at my house. will ya'll be there long?
  • me: yep just got here, leave now.
  • sarah: this is going to be embarrassing for me.
  • me: nope.
  • sarah: you better look gross or youre gonna be in trouble cause im not changing.
  • me: em has a sports bra on and you can see its white strap right now.
  • sarah: i have a tanktop on with a nike swoosh on it.
  • me: bring it.
Tags: sarah fess emily fitzgerald
1 note
~ Tuesday, January 26 ~
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erin martin, interior design.

all images taken from erinmartindesign.com


~ Friday, January 22 ~
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I like living, breathing better than working…my art is that of living. Each second, each breath is a work which is inscribed nowhere, which is neither visual nor cerebral, it’s a sort of constant euphoria.
— marcel duchamp

~ Tuesday, January 12 ~
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The gaps are the thing. The gaps are the spirit’s one home, the altitudes and latitudes so dazzingly spare and clean that the spirit can discover itself for the first time like a once-blind man unbound. The gaps are the clefts in the rock where you you cower to see the back parts of God; they are the fissures between mountains and cells the wind lances through, the icy narrowing fjords splitting the cliffs of mystery. Go up into the gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock — more than a maple — a universe. This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.
— annie dillard

~ Sunday, January 10 ~
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being sick on sunday mornings isnt so bad when you have dunk’n donuts coffee and life aquatic is on tv. i forgot how much i love this movie and soundtrack.


~ Saturday, January 9 ~
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I love Julian Schnabel. Click here for more of his pieces.


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These photographs show the remodeled New York City home of photographer Carter Smith. From House & Garden (back in the good days before it vanished) and photographed by Martyn Thompson, found here: Habitually Chic.

On another note, i’m sick again. Its the annoying kind too. Either way, I plan on medicating, bundling up, and reading Jitterbug Perfume. Today is my last day to myself. Rush starts tomorrow… there are many things I’d rather do than participate in rush and they all involve personally causing myself physical pain.


~ Tuesday, January 5 ~
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Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery. The surface of mystery is not smooth, any more than the planet is smooth; not even a single hydrogen atom is smooth, let alone a pine. Nor does it fit together; not even the chlorophyll and hemoglobin molecules are a perfect match, for, even after the atom of iron replaces the magnesium, long streamers of disparate atoms trail disjointedly from the rims of the molecules’ loops. Freedom cuts both ways. Mystery itself is as fringed and intricate as the shape of the air in time. Forays into mysteries cut bays and fine fiords, but the forested mainland itself is implacable both in its bulk and in its most filigreed fringe of detail. “Every religion that does not affirm that God is hidden,” said Pascal flatly, “is not true.”
— annie dillard