to the moon & to the stars
Fatma, 17, NY
Lover of plants, glitter, books, art, and science fiction.
RFRSH MSG ARCHV RNDM THM
holacabrones:

part of my power vest

weekendplaylist:

not about angels // birdy

Played 86 times
I have
fallen
for you
and
you simply
have no idea.
I am
in love
with the
words you
write
and the
way
you express
your emotions,
as if
they consume
each corner
of your soul.
And although
you once said
your heart
was dark
and dry
and freezing cold
I know
there are
sunflowers
growing
in there,
somewhere;
even when
you think
it is
poison ivy.
— Ming D. Liu,  (via mingdliu)

choreos:

Little baby succulents & their big brothers and sisters!

sunkenlane:

edwardspoonhands:

First Track on Incongruent: “I Fucking Love Science.” I think this will also be the first music video…if all goes according to plan.

Obviously, this is the explicit version. If you like it please share! And high five to Rob Scallon for that SICK DRUM SOLO!

God I’m excited about this.

Hank, this is freaking fantastic. My ears want to grow mouths so they can shout about how good of a song this is.

Played 131536 times
She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city.
— Roman Payne, The Wanderess
Rain is the merging of cool air with warm
under general conditions of humidity. Try to remember
it has nothing to do with love
or grief. This is the consolation of philosophy:
it’s out of our hands. The business of bars
and stores, our separate beds, the garbaged
offices of alleyways, is aging. It sighs
in the blood like salt, slows us, and is why
our hearts are heaviest on the moment
of waking: the weight we ferry, the fright,
the long vowel opening at the centre
of a consonant world that draws the hurt up,
an empty bowl, while history’s rebar is replaced
and a species coughs its lungs out
in another room. Private lives of insects
and the single notes that move them, hard-won
courage of raccoon and crow who eat our garbage
and hate us, are foreclosed. We are lonely. We
are here. Inside a vestigial swimmer bears
memory like the phantom pain of when the earth
was new and we were a promise in the sex
of its making, its heat and pools. Cells’ random
liquid birth. In the molecular ache of land
as it cooled, when, before tears, before
property, it rained for more than a million years.
— Karen Solie, “Under the Sun”
'Are you always a smartass?'
‘Nope. Sometimes I’m asleep.’
— Jim Butcher, Blood Rites
Three o’clock in the morning. The soft April night is looking at my windows and caressingly winking at me with its stars. I can’t sleep, I am so happy.
— Anton Chekhov, About Love and Other Stories
hybridnomad:

“Başçarşı’nın sokakları gibi seni, Kuca Sevdaha’nın çayı, Aliya’nın kabri gibi” dedi delikanlı. Gülümsedi Saraybosna. İşte bunlar hep şiir.” İsmail Kılıçarslan
There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.
— Ernest Hemingway
She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city.
— Roman Payne, The Wanderess

fleurdelunaa:

breakfast this morning served in the bath

ebony-eden:

For Every Flower Forced To Bloom, 2013 

digital film stills