nonotreallyu

[nonotreallyu]

Reblog if you are dead

[nonotreallyu]

can't believe spotify wrapped 2020 was one whole year ago ...

#can't wrap my head around this

#hate

[nonotreallyu]

half of me finishes a book within 6-12 consecutive hours and the other half of me takes roughly six months.

[nonotreallyu]

i miss internet gcs 2020 era they were so mental illness

#where to find friends

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[nonotreallyu]

thinking about how life really is just about the little rituals we set up for ourselves. a long shower to wash off the day's hardships. peeling your orange in the morning before you rush to catch the bus. watering your plants, noting the changes of the soil, of the leaves. those moments that we give ourselves, the bubbles in our life where we allow ourselves to just breathe and exist. thinking about how those moments are laced with intention. i am taking care of myself, of my environment, of my body. i am nourishing my heart my soul my mind. because i deserve to love and i deserve to be loved.

[nonotreallyu]

sandra cisneros, the house on mango street / tatyana nilovna yablonskaya - morning, 1954 / anatoly levitin- warm day, 1957 / harry sutton palmer - a cottage garden, 20th c. / phoebe bridgers, i know the end / sarah abraham - one fine morning, 2013 / theo gosselin - denver morning 5, 2015 / gaston bachelard, the poetics of space / federico zandomeneghi - in bed, 1878 / laura ingalls wilder /colley wisson- morning light kyneton australia, 21st c. / @gabi_wahl on instagram / lauren jolly roberts - cecile’s garden, 2006 / maya angelou, all god’s children need traveling shoes

[nonotreallyu]

Dust-filled streaks of light, lukewarm coffee, the sticky plastic of library book covers, smudged ink, the smell of a candle just burnt out

[nonotreallyu]

something about taking your friends to abandoned buildings sipping coffee and speaking about the myths of creation

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it's liberating how i write in journals everyday believing no one is going to read them so my handwriting keeps getting increasingly sloppy and messier

[nonotreallyu]

had my mysterious-stranger-with-books-in- hand-walking-fast-getting-wet-in- rain-searching-for-rikshaw-blurred- glasses-bokeh-light-moment today wbu

[nonotreallyu]

it's a sunny day, after weeks of constant pouring. the streets smell of earth. it wakes me up, the sunshine on my feet. my skin feels warm, in the good way, like a baby in its mother's arms. my eyes are cold still, reading the newspaper, sipping chai. i can hear the cars on the road, today morning feels good.

[nonotreallyu]

something makes me afraid, while walking or cycling in the streets. I fear that i cannot comprehend the magnanimity of intricacies that old architecture holds, in such little time. I fear I won't be able to listen to every story that shades a mansion, I fear I'd lose this all to some new boring construction. it makes me want to capture everything around me. a photo, a plucked flower in a book, a voice note in my phone, a quick sketch. i never forget to date my entries. I fear it's all I'll have when I want to revisit.

#old buildings have all my heart

#i want to live in one

[nonotreallyu]

“A kitchen is the best—I mean the saddest—room for tears. A bedroom is too easy, a bathroom too private, a living room too formal. If someone falls to pieces in the kitchen, in the space of work and nourishment, they must be truly coming undone. The bright lights offer no comfort, only illuminate. The floor should be vinyl and cold.”

— Heather Christle, from The Crying Book (via lifeinpoetry)

[nonotreallyu]

the meat paintings are, understandably, the pieces that elicit the most questions. the first is usually, "why meat?" the glib answer is: "you can only paint so many pears." / scott conary, meat paintings.

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It ever rains and you just love the world

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I dream of one day being able to craft characters as vividly and efficiently as Billy Joel in “Piano Man.”

Paul “the real-estate novelist”. Three words! That’s all we need to build a complete picture of this man’s personality and history. And then it just rounds out the picture with “never had time for a wife”.

And we don’t even pause a beat before jumping to the equally vivid tragedy of “Davy who’s still in the navy and probably will be for life.”

And these two are talking together! Because of course they are, these kindred souls stuck in their lives of mediocrity.

The whole song’s nothing but lightning-fast character sketches. The old man whose song is “sad and sweet and knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes.”

John at the bar, so firmly established as cheerful and friendly and exuberant before the 180 turn to “Bill, I believe this is killing me.”

The waitress practicing politics.

Even the businessmen “sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone.”

All these tiny little tragicomic figures gathered around a bar’s piano. Sketched in five minutes and thirty-nine seconds–and that’s counting the choruses and harmonica breaks.

I dunno, I just think about it every time I hear the song and think he deserves more credit for it.