definitions of my psyche

this is my inspirationlog; none of these snippets are mine unless they're tagged so. ♥ livejournal twitter facebook

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in which a gay cover of one of america’s most quintessential modern american love songs is a thing that exists

(Source: artagainstsociety)



T-Murda giving you the real


(Source: betterthankanyebitch)

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

"The Thing Is," Ellen Bass (via commovente)


There’s not enough Luke Evans on tumblr, and I’m fixing it



There’s not enough Luke Evans on tumblr, and I’m fixing it


belle-ayitian: Luke Evans for WWD’s Men’s Week Issue

What He Wore In Captions


Wolfram Hahn - A Disenchanted Playroom

The children shown in this series are watching television. These portraits record the precise moment in which the children, between 3 and 12 years old, show absolutely no impulse or emotion. Engulfed, entranced, the children are no longer active individuals. Rather, they have become passive, fully abandoning themselves to the child-oriented programming playing on the television in front of them.


Elie Saab Spring 2015 RTW

(Source: neoncray-ns)


A poem has secrets that the poet knows nothing of. It takes on a life and a will of its own. It might have proceeded differently—towards catastrophe, resignation, terror, despair—and I still would have to claim it. Valéry said that poetry is a language within a language. It is also a language beyond language, a meta-medium—that is, metabolic, metaphoric, metamorphic. A poet’s collected work is his book of changes. The great meditations on death have a curious exaltation. I suppose it comes from the realization, even on the threshold, that one isn’t done with one’s changes.”

Stanley Kunitz, “The Art of Poetry No. 29,” The Paris Review (no. 83, Spring 1982)

The cost of daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse.

Ian McEwan, from Atonement (Jonathan Cape, 2001)

(Source: annawilliams90)

When we place more value on what other people think of us than on what we think of ourselves, it’s a formula for misery.

Suzanne Selfors (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

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