February 2012
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Invent your own mythology or be slave to another man’s.
– William Blake (via rd67)
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'once, when i was on the cusp of adulthood.'
heksenhaus:
wine soaked lilacs left to rot in the sun gifting a sweetness to the air both cloying and commendable. the bees of some forgotten hell (thrice times twice) circling stingless and erratic drunk on the piss of martyrs. (and her afterglow lit the way back to nowhere.) there is a symbol for Nothing and it’s carved in the back of her throat.
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-.sjb.
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My photography comes from a life long obsession of exploring how my subconscious...
– (via journalofanobody)
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asoftskeleton replied to your post: jacobvanloon replied to your post: Reading old…
or you could just talk like that forever :)
No doubt this would spread this not so humble narrator’s exquisite flamboyance too thinly on otherwise un-pomp slices of verbal bread! So alas, no riding headfirst into the fray of poetry on occasions occurring as regularly as forever! Though a pompous trot...
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jacobvanloon replied to your post: Reading old norwegian literature (really looking…
come back soon!
Fear not! For my once adamant will-power to thwart tumblr’s alluring embrace wanes as quickly as it waxes!
Also, I should stay off the poetry for some time.
Reading old norwegian literature (really looking forward to be doing fb-updates in the style of 1800-century danish nobility), planning a collage and I’ve got a song to finish.
So I better get off tumblr!
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‘Aye.’ It’s a good word, I think. More of a whole attitude than a word, really....
– Sergeant Sunrise
Dust of Dreams, book nine in The Malazan Book of the Fallen, by Steven Erikson
(via miltonsayshi)
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Poetry is made of the same stuff you are reading now, the same stuff you use to...
– The Ode Less Travelled by Stephen Fry (via fuckyeahstephenfry)
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