....a beethoven pause...

a lingering dissolution

an ordure from beginning to end

saltyfree:

Fiona Apple in the Nov ‘97 issue of Spin magazine

(via sadgirlsguide)

mechanicalcurator:

Image from ‘Face to Face with the Mexicans: the domestic life … legendary and general history of the Mexican people … With … illustrations’, 001461262
Author: GOOCH, Fanny Chambers.
Page: 446
Year: 1890
Place: London
Publisher: Sampson Low & Co.
View all the images from this book
Following the link above will take you to the British Library’s integrated catalogue. You will be able to download a PDF of the book this image is taken from, as well as view the pages up close with the ‘itemViewer’. Click on the ‘related items’ to search for the electronic version of this work.

mechanicalcurator:

Image from ‘Face to Face with the Mexicans: the domestic life … legendary and general history of the Mexican people … With … illustrations’, 001461262

  • Author: GOOCH, Fanny Chambers.
  • Page: 446
  • Year: 1890
  • Place: London
  • Publisher: Sampson Low & Co.

View all the images from this book

Following the link above will take you to the British Library’s integrated catalogue. You will be able to download a PDF of the book this image is taken from, as well as view the pages up close with the ‘itemViewer’. Click on the ‘related items’ to search for the electronic version of this work.

CC0

vedranmisic:

emoji mandala no.2 (animated gif)

vedranmisic:

emoji mandala no.2 (animated gif)

rotten

For Karl

Some weeks before, Stephen had asked me about my favourite place in Galway. We rattled through a few beauty spots but I wasn’t keen. He wanted a Howth to do it; well I thought as well him as an other yes yes I will yes kind of job but I was never as Andalucian as all that. Instead I chose a quiet stony little beach, close to our home, between Blackrock and the caravan park. It reminded me of Curracloe summers and the sting of sand whipped on cold hairy legs. It was a seaside thoroughfare clutching the infinite coast.

 Seven days before Christmas we dressed nervously for our walk. He shaved his head. I avoided his eyes. He pulled my hand when I went to leave and he asked me on the hard stones. As two golfers fussed ahead, I lumbered to my knees too. I thanked him because he trembled and shook in a way I had never seen. In that nervous moment, he was more like me than like himself and, in grace and hope and confidence, I was more like him than me. We laughed and kissed and made our way home as grey sheets of rain lurched in. 

image

The storms were bad and within an hour the beach would close for seven more months.

Less than two weeks later we set out again. I was wearing a bright red prophylactic raincoat I has bought the day of our engagement. Tk Maxx, €80. Sure I would need it and didn’t I deserve protection and shelter forever more. As we walked the gales blew up again. Stephen picked through the crab pools and I took greeny pictures of him. 

image

My father rang me. Over the wind I could hear his upset. What’s wrong? What’s wrong now? I thought it was the floods that had impeded our Christmas, returned in consternation. But it was a quieter yielding. Karl, our funny friend since I was a lonely angry girl in a room of petulant boys, had died the night before. I started to cry openly and people peered into my new red hood. Stephen came to me and took my hand hotly. He walked me home and made me toast and spaghetti hoops. He held my hand all through the funeral, the other hand protectively placed on Dónal’s chair. I still have not told many about Karl’s death.

We came back to the beach to show friends where he had proposed. He was hurt by my embarrassment and I was too proud to tell him of its new meaning. The news of Karl’s death was now traced on the implacable shore and all the waves and floods and force cannot undo that noise. All summer, I walked the other way and swallowed the hot fear down.

image

I returned to the spot today and it is grey and windy and full of birds still. The summer is in its demise and everyone has their hoods up. I am back now, finger girdled by a ring of warm frail gold. The wandering rocks have been returned too but now they are moored by concrete. 

image
                                        Karl Butterly
                                   (20.12.1991 - 5.1.2014
)

youngturksrecords:

How to pick up a microphone FKA twigs style.

(via pitchfork)

l4brys:

i wont rest until ive complained about everything

(via laugh-til-ya-fart)

“The black night
is huge, mute, and you are further forever than that.”

—   Carol Ann Duffy, from “Death and the Moon” (via the-final-sentence)

(via the-final-sentence)

<3

<3

fyeahwomenartists:

Suzan Freconsoforouge (2010)Oil on linen

fyeahwomenartists:

Suzan Frecon
soforouge (2010)
Oil on linen

“Lorca reminds us that cradle songs were invented by women desperate to put their children to sleep. The women soothe their children by expressing their own weariness.”

banderboucher:

it’s not a sunday unless you completely waste it then feel really sad around 8pm

(via laugh-til-ya-fart)

(Source: toto-ro, via actuallygrimes)

incidentalcomics:

Just a reminder to play Haruki Murakami Bingo today - “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage” is out in the US! 

The bingo board photos and handmade pieces are courtesy of Los Angeles-based painter (and Murakami/Incidental Comics reader) Hunter Nesbitt. Thanks Hunter!