V for Victor
I Happened To Be Standing—Mary Oliver

I don’t know where prayers go,
      or what they do.
Do cats pray, while they sleep
      half-asleep in the sun?
Does the opossum pray as it
      crosses the street?
The sunflowers? The old black oak
      growing older every year?
I know I can walk through the world,
      along the shore or under the trees,
with my mind filled with things
      of little importance, in full
self-attendance. A condition I can’t really
      call being alive.
Is a prayer a gift, or a petition,
      or does it matter?
The sunflowers blaze, maybe that’s their way.
Maybe the cats are sound asleep. Maybe not.

While I was thinking this I happened to be standing
just outside my door, with my notebook open,
which is the way I begin every morning.
Then a wren in the privet began to sing.
He was positively drenched in enthusiasm,
I don’t know why. And yet, why not.
I wouldn’t persuade you from whatever you believe
or whatever you don’t. That’s your business.
But I thought, of the wren’s singing, what could this be
      if it isn’t a prayer?
So I just listened, my pen in the air.

The New Song—W.S. Merwin

For some time I thought there was time
and that there would always be time
for what I had a mind to do
and what I could imagine
going back to and finding it
as I had found it the first time
but by this time I do not know
what I thought when I thought back then

there is no time yet it grows less
there is the sound of rain at night
arriving unknown in the leaves
once without before or after
then I hear the thrush waking
at daybreak singing the new song

wildlyconstant:

Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook, not
the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication, not
the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punch line, the…





mass producing your fake revolution

the fucking irony

This image is a metaphor for everything wrong with neoliberalism.

mass producing your fake revolution

the fucking irony

This image is a metaphor for everything wrong with neoliberalism.

The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?
Oscar Wilde
Isaac Hayes - Walk On By
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highrelease:

Isaac Hayes | Walk On By

before isaac hayes, people just had sex. afterwards they began to make love.


Life value compared in font size.

damn biased liberal neo-nazi antisemites, how dare they mention dead palestinians

Life value compared in font size.

damn biased liberal neo-nazi antisemites, how dare they mention dead palestinians

nonexistentially:

*SHOTS FIRED*

fuckyeah-stars:

invaderxan:

Milosav Druckmüller is, hands down, the greatest eclipse photographer in the world. Fact.

Composite Image of the Moon Taken from 47 Photos Reveals Solar Corona During a Total Solar Eclipse

moslemblackdoll:

didgeridope:

Real windows framed as T.V screens (Project), 2014 Ibon Mainar

Dope!

moslemblackdoll:

didgeridope:

Real windows framed as T.V screens (Project), 2014 Ibon Mainar

Dope!

jpuuuusycat:

I once had a dream that started like this. 😴☺#phantomtollbooth #nortonjuster #julesfeiffer #naptime #musicsheets #elementaryreading

jpuuuusycat:

I once had a dream that started like this. 😴☺#phantomtollbooth #nortonjuster #julesfeiffer #naptime #musicsheets #elementaryreading