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write about how you feel and what’s tormenting you—write it out of your system, July 5, 1903 [From Lou Andreas-Salomé to Rainer Maria Rilke] Rilke and Andreas-Salomé: a love story in letters (1897-1926)
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It's All Right
by William Stafford
Someone you trusted has treated you bad. Someone has used you to vent their ill temper. Did you expect anything different? Your work — better than some others' — has languished, neglected. Or a job you tried was too hard, and you failed. Maybe weather or bad luck spoiled what you did. That grudge, held against you for years after you patched up, has flared, and you've lost a friend for a time. Things at home aren't so good; on the job your spirits have sunk. But just when the worst bears down you find a pretty bubble in your soup at noon, and outside at work a bird says, "Hi!" Slowly the sun creeps along the floor; it is coming your way. It touches your shoe.
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a.m. tide
instagram - twitter - website
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How Lucky We Are That You Can't Sell a Poem
by Gregory Orr
How lucky we are That you can’t sell A poem, that it has No value. Might As well Give it away.
That poem you love, That saved your life, Wasn’t it given to you?
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Bram Stoker’s Dracula — 1992, dir. Francis Ford Coppola
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don’t know what’s real or fake …
@lostfwn
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Sevierville TN on medium format film, by me Angelina Castillo <3
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flowers for breakfast
instagram - twitter - website
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To Be Alive
by Gregory Orr
To be alive: not just the carcass But the spark. That's crudely put, but… If we're not supposed to dance, Why all this music?
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“I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it’s hard to stay mad when there is so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold onto it. And then it flows through me like rain, and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life.”
American Beauty (1999)
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"you know, the thing about suicide.... you don't just kill yourself. you kill every memory of you. this'll be all everyone remembers, jamie [...] "
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Island
by Langston Hughes
Wave of sorrow, Do not drown me now:
I see the island Still ahead somehow.
I see the island And its sands are fair:
Wave of sorrow, Take me there.
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