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"Our Sorrows" — Julia Holter

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Gustave Doré, The Monkey and the Dolphin, 1870
❝ i had escaped between the mountains and into the soil, like a whisper on a soft breath. And though the wind did not pick me up, the fields of wheat washed at my knees.

— Georgia Whots, “On Grey Seas.” cir. 1940. (via lylaandblu)

(Source: 1924us)


Bogey & Bacall.

We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves.

I wish for all this to be marked on by body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography - to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience.

— Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient (via observando)