the-agony-of-spreading-bones - Tumblr blog

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Salvador Dali

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Frida Kalo and the russian poet and futurist Vladimir Mayakovsky

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source:(x)  black and white nature blog , my edit

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mortur:

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I'm not trying to imply I can keep up this silent, isolated facade all the time. Sometimes the wall I've erected around me comes crumbling down. It doesn't happen very often, but sometimes, before I even realize what's going on, there I am-naked and defenseless and totally confused. At times like that I always feel an omen calling out to me, like a dark, omnipresent pool of water. A dark, omnipresent pool of water. It was probably always there, hidden away somewhere. But when the time comes it silently rushes out, chilling every cell in your body. You drown in that cruel flood, gasping for breath. You cling to a vent near the ceiling, struggling, but the air you manage to breathe is dry and burns your throat. Water and thirst, cold and heat-these supposedly opposite elements combine to assault you. The world is a huge space, but the space that will take you in-and it doesn't have to be very big-is nowhere to be found. You seek a voice, but what do you get? Silence. You look for silence, but guess what? All you hear over and over and over is the voice of this omen. And sometimes this prophetic voice pushes a secret switch hidden deep inside your brain. Your heart is like a great river after a long spell of rain, spilling over its banks. All signposts that once stood on the ground are gone, inundated and carried away by that rush of water. And still the rain beats down on the surface of the river. Every time you see a flood like that on the news you tell yourself: That's it. That's my heart.

Murakami - Kafka on the shore

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"You must wait patiently, knowing that you’re waiting, and knowing what you’re waiting for. That is the warrior’s way.

Carlos Castaneda, A Separate Reality (via talesofpassingtime)

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No tengas miedo.

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Contempla cada camino de cerca, entonces hazte esta pregunta crucial: ¿me lleva el corazón por esta ruta? Si lo hace, entonces el camino es bueno. Si no es así, es inútil.

Fragmento de Viaje a Ixtlán, Carlos Castaneda (via poesianoerestu)

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Egle Tvirbutaite