nicholasrowley22 - Tumblr blog

[nicholasrowley22]

I spoke with bitterness about my life and I said that I would take my own part against the slander of oblivion and against the monstrous facelessness of it and that I would stand a stone in the very void where all would read my name. Of that vanity I recant all.

Suttree, Cormac McCarthy's Suttree (via newcannonballblues)

[nicholasrowley22]

‘The newer the culture is, the more it fears nightfall,’ wrote the German journalist and historian Wolfgang Schivelbusch. There are many ghosts in the edgelands’ never-quite-dark. Post-industrial England is haunted by a future that never happened, and the inescapable truth that these are the results of our long reclamation of the night: a blackbird singing at midnight on a floodlit roundabout; the silvery lake surface of a deserted conference centre car park; the steadfast flow of bus-stop advertisements.

Paul Farley & Michael Symmons Roberts, Edgelands: Journeys into England’s True Wilderness (via probablyasocialecologist)

[nicholasrowley22]

‘The newer the culture is, the more it fears nightfall,’ wrote the German journalist and historian Wolfgang Schivelbusch. There are many ghosts in the edgelands’ never-quite-dark. Post-industrial England is haunted by a future that never happened, and the inescapable truth that these are the results of our long reclamation of the night: a blackbird singing at midnight on a floodlit roundabout; the silvery lake surface of a deserted conference centre car park; the steadfast flow of bus-stop advertisements.

Paul Farley & Michael Symmons Roberts, Edgelands: Journeys into England’s True Wilderness (via probablyasocialecologist)

[nicholasrowley22]

Night Tide (Curtis Harrington, 1961)

[nicholasrowley22]

floral fanny pack

[nicholasrowley22]

Meanwhile, what has become of my art? And my heart, where have I wasted it?

Frédéric Chopin, from a letter to Wojciech Grzymala wr. c. October 1848 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[nicholasrowley22]

you lie on the stairs and see no more than a dead ant / nothing but black sun with broken rays

Zbigniew Herbert, ‘Elegy of Fortinbras’ in Study of the Object

[nicholasrowley22]

First there was a god of night and tempest, a black idol without eyes...

Zbigniew Herbert, ‘From Mythology’ in Study of the Object

[nicholasrowley22]

Her eyes dream into infinity / but in her glances snails are asleep

Zbigniew Herbert, ‘Mona Lisa’ in Study of the Object

[nicholasrowley22]

O poor nights, when we pray to the passing comet of a moth

Zbigniew Herbert, Hermes, Dog and Star

[nicholasrowley22]

But what to do with the fly, the black fly that creeps into the half-closed mouth and carries out the remaining crumbs of the soul?

Zbigniew Herbert, Hermes, Dog and Star

[nicholasrowley22]

I see two angels standing at my shoulders: the pale, malevolent angel of Irony and the mighty, loving angel of Schizophrenia.

Zbigniew Herbet, Hermes, Dog and Star

[nicholasrowley22]

Drunks are people who drink to the dregs in one draft. But they wince because in the dregs they see themselves again. Through the glass of the bottle they observe faraway worlds. If they had stronger heads and better taste, they would be astronomers.

Zbigniew Herbert, Hermes, Dog and Star

[nicholasrowley22]

Zbigniew Herbert, Hermes, Dog and Star

[nicholasrowley22]

and just to say - I love / I run around like mad / picking up handfuls of birds / and my tenderness

Zbigniew Herbet, Hermes, Dog and Star

[nicholasrowley22]

After the rain of stars / on the meadow of ashes

Zbigniew Herbet, Hermes, Dog and Star

[nicholasrowley22]

Now I see words dying. There is no limit to decay. What will remain after us are fragments of words scattered on the black earth. Accent signs over nothingness and ash.

Zbigniew Herbet, Hermes, Dog and Star