Because everybody's got something to hide except for me and my monkey
Sunset. #sunset #beautiful #charleston  (at College of Charleston)

Sunset. #sunset #beautiful #charleston (at College of Charleston)

People have been trying to kill me since I was born,
a man tells his son, trying to explain
the wisdom of learning a second tongue.

It’s the same old story from the previous century
about my father and me.

The same old story from yesterday morning
about me and my son.

It’s called “Survival Strategies
and the Melancholy of Racial Assimilation.”

It’s called “Psychological Paradigms of Displaced Persons,”

called “The Child Who’d Rather Play than Study.”

Practice until you feel
the language inside you, says the man.

But what does he know about inside and outside,
my father who was spared nothing
in spite of the languages he used?

And me, confused about the flesh and soul,
who asked once into a telephone,
Am I inside you?

You’re always inside me, a woman answered,
at peace with the body’s finitude,
at peace with the soul’s disregard
of space and time.

Am I inside you? I asked once
lying between her legs, confused
about the body and the heart.

If you don’t believe you’re inside me, you’re not,
she answered, at peace with the body’s greed,
at peace with the heart’s bewilderment.

It’s an ancient story from yesterday evening

called “Patterns of Love in Peoples of Diaspora,”

called “Loss of the Homeplace
and the Defilement of the Beloved,”

called “I Want to Sing but I Don’t Know Any Songs.”

—Immigrant Blues
Li Young-Lee (via allysonsthebomb)

To whom I owe the leaping delight
That quickens my senses in our wakingtime
And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime,
The breathing in unison

Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other
Who think the same thoughts without need of speech
And babble the same speech without need of meaning.

No peevish winter wind shall chill
No sullen tropic sun shall wither
The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only

But this dedication is for others to read:
These are private words addressed to you in public.

—T.S. Eliot

artmastered:

Caspar David Friedrich, Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, 1818, oil on canvas, 94.8 x 74.8 cm, Kunsthalle Hamburg. Source
The painting that defines the art of the German Romanticists, Friedrich’s Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog is a depiction of the artist surveying a mountainous landscape bathed in fog from a rocky vantage point. The viewer is encouraged to immerse themselves in the sublime beauty of nature, just as Friedrich is doing, and to take a step back from the corruption and hollowness of modern society.

artmastered:

Caspar David Friedrich, Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog, 1818, oil on canvas, 94.8 x 74.8 cm, Kunsthalle Hamburg. Source

The painting that defines the art of the German Romanticists, Friedrich’s Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog is a depiction of the artist surveying a mountainous landscape bathed in fog from a rocky vantage point. The viewer is encouraged to immerse themselves in the sublime beauty of nature, just as Friedrich is doing, and to take a step back from the corruption and hollowness of modern society.

(via mustards)

John Densmore of The Doors #rock&roll #rock #thedoors #jimmorrison  (at Monster Music & Movies)

John Densmore of The Doors #rock&roll #rock #thedoors #jimmorrison (at Monster Music & Movies)

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