Pikolo has traveled by sea and knows what it means: it is when the horizon closes in on itself, free, straight ahead and simple, and there is nothing but the smell of the sea, sweet things, ferociously far away.
Survival in Auschwitz, Primo Levi


A genuinely remarkable conversation between Studs Terkel and Diane Arbus, from 1968. The conversation is surprisingly - even shockingly - forthright for an artist whose estate has worked so hard to ensconce Arbus in a shroud of mystery and recalcitrant genius.

Diane Arbus - Marcella Matthaei - 1969


Found on the tumblr of Nich Hance McElroy:

"In the tense silence the continual buzzing of the horseflies was the only audible sound, that and the constant rain beating down in the distance, and, uniting the two, the ever more frequent scritch-scratch of the bent acacia trees outside, and the strange nightshift work of the bugs in the table legs and in various parts of the counter whose irregular pulse measured out the small parcels of time, apportioning the narrow space into which a word, a sentence or a movement might perfectly fit. The entire end-of-October night was beating with a single pulse, its own strange rhythm sounding through trees and rain and mud in a manner beyond words or vision: a vision present in the low light, in the slow passage of darkness, in the blurred shadows, in the working of tired muscles; in the silence, in its human subjects, in the undulating surface of the metaled road; in the hair moving to a different beat than do the dissolving fibers of the body; growth and decay on their divergent paths; all these thousands of echoing rhythms, this confusing clatter of night noises, all parts of an apparently common stream, that is the attempt to forget despair; though behind things other things appear as if by mischief, and once beyond the power of the eye they don’t hang together. So with the door left open as if forever, with the lock that will never open. There is a chasm, a crevice."

László Krasznahorkai, Satantango

Go after her. Fuck, don’t sit there and wait for her to call, go after her because that’s what you should do if you love someone, don’t wait for them to give you a sign cause it might never come, don’t let people happen to you, don’t let me happen to you, or her, she’s not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this and I always thought I’d be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a fuck to do it back or to act like idiots or be entirely vulnerable and honest and making someone fall in love with you is easy and flying 3000 miles on four days notice because you can’t just sit there and do nothing and breathe into telephones is not everyone’s idea of love but it is the way I can recognize it because that is what I do. Go scream it and be with her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is generous and that is what loving someone is, that is raw and that is unguarded, and that is all that is worth anything, really.
Harvey Milk  (via ashleyspice)

(via redeyedeer)

As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.

Philip Booth, from his poem “First Lesson”

I soooo appreciate how our readers leave these lovely citations in our comments sections.

(via beingblog)


The afternoon clouds are here. Big and tall and looking like an atomic bomb went off over south Louisiana. #louisiana #weather #clouds #fishing #neworleans #boat #landscape

(via iloveyoulouisiana)


"It was just very erotic."

The waltz wasn’t just a dance. It was a revolution

(via npr)


"Whatever happens, happens to you, by you, through you.

You are the creator, enjoyer and destroyer of all you perceive.”

— Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj

Photo: Herman Landshoff