Portrait of a Lady

Jul 15

sad-eyed-prophet:

The Beach Boys - God Only Knows

I may not always love you
But long as there are stars above you
You never need to doubt it
I’ll make you so sure about it
God only knows what I’d be without you

loverofbeauty:

Elie Nadelman, Tango, 1920–24. Painted cherry wood / Whitney Museum Nyc
Jul 15

loverofbeauty:

Elie Nadelman, Tango, 1920–24. Painted cherry wood / Whitney Museum Nyc

"Six mistakes mankind keeps making century after century: Believing that personal gain is made by crushing others; Worrying about things that cannot be changed or corrected; Insisting that a thing is impossible because we cannot accomplish it; Refusing to set aside trivial preferences; Neglecting development and refinement of the mind; Attempting to compel others to believe and live as we do."

- Cicero, 106 BC - 43 BC (via lazyyogi)

Jun 17

Light compounded, and the universe noticed me. I was red in the face; really, quite embarrassed. The attention was unnerving. Unaccountable amounts of space, all turned in my general direction; cosmos’ tingling with anticipation for my next move. I held my breath for what seemed like eons [then my cheeks blushed even more thinking about what my audience would think if they could read my mind… I could just hear it, all of them laughing at me “EONS! Ha! You think you know EONS!?; and the worst part would be that the laughter would echo for millions of years, as the sound waves traveled like snails through the blackness and the space, expectantly awaiting the day when they finally crawled into my ears and then made themselves into a memory].    

And then I did let out my CO2.

And then I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so I just stood there.

And then I was born.

“The universe will be full of spinning,” I was told once by a distant relative with a name so long it’s hardly worth pronouncing, so, for all intents and purposes, I called him [Planet Zeta].

I remembered this only when I was twelve and I had the spins for the first time. I laid in bed next to my brother Muhammad, who was six, begging that I wouldn’t have to leave the room and puke again. I thought it was because I didn’t want to wake him, but it was really that I couldn’t bear to watch him curl up towards the wall again as I opened the door, the sickening florescent light flooding over him. The movement was somehow beyond impulse. It was clean and predictable, yet desperate; the arch in his back became severe, and his head disappeared into the darkness, worst of all, by his choice. So I just laid there and closed my eyes, trying to picture something steady like an anchor. But an anchor drops through water which is always moving and flowing and surely an anchor must spin, spin, spin on its way down.

I felt something hot on my cheeks and then I realized that I was crying. Mostly because I felt guilty but also because sleep was lost to me. Through gun shots and shouting, I’d managed to descend into the darkness with great ease. Now, I was descending but in a motion far more violent. The loss felt tremendous. I felt a tug at the sheet and looked over as Muhammad turned over, further away from me; his hand, clasped around the crumpled yellow edge of the sheet, looked so small and yet wicked. I turned away too and spun until I fell asleep. In my deepest hour, I was Muhammad’s grave. 

“You will never die,” Zeta had promised me. “You’ll just keep on traveling. Don’t fear or dismiss the wanderers. They know what they are; they know what we all are.”

I heard these words in my dreams for years after Muhammad died. They came back to me like an inner ritual nearly every night. I would often wake covered in sweat, weeping and screaming, as I watched Muhammad walk across a meadow of stars, then collapse into Allah’s arms. The scents of foreign flowers filled the air and choked me; the two of them walked onwards.

I made a garden where Muhammad was shot, which I tended for the rest of my life. Right there, in the middle of the projects, between two rectangular slates of ugly concrete. The first year, I planted tomatoes. They had been his favorite. He would hold one in his hands like a prayer and bite into it like an apple. The juice would spill over onto everything and he would laugh and wipe his covered hands onto my sleeves, despite my protests.

The second year, I laid down ten stones; one for each year of Muhammad’s life. On the first, I painted a green lamb. On the last, a Z.

Jun 17
THE FUTURE

Every day my greatest struggle is to live, 

Fully.

To live, 

Fully. 

Jun 7

"All natures, all formed things, all creatures exist in and with one another and will again be resolved into their own roots, because the nature of matter is dissolved into the roots of its nature alone. He who has ears to hear, let him hear."

- Jesus, The Gospel of Mary (via lazyyogi)

Jun 5
greuze:

Nicolas de Largillière, Portrait of a Woman (Detail), 1696
Jun 5

greuze:

Nicolas de Largillière, Portrait of a Woman (Detail), 1696

(via thegoldeneternity)

"Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose."

- Jedi Master Yoda (via lazyyogi)

Jun 5

"And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in."

- Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: happinesslists, via thatkindofwoman)

Jun 4
tangerinatropical:

Nolstagie Lê Phổ 1938
Jun 4

tangerinatropical:

Nolstagie 
Lê Phổ 
1938

(Source: jambo-rosa, via thegoldeneternity)

What a fool I was to think that I could escape time!

I thought that all the time that I’d been moving, and traveling through the distances inside myself, and expanding like pupils in the darkness [though infinitely], I was on some sort of abstract line [Euclid’s kind made up of points: ‘that which has no part’] moving forwards! Onwards! Beyond to the Great Unknown!

Because of course that’s how I see time in the realms of my [buried] mind. I see it. Clear as day in my deep-dark-super-secret imagination which of course we all trust and rely on and are restricted by and expanded by whether we realize it or not.

But oh was I proven wrong. Time must be the space through which I am falling through always. And all my feelings and my experiences, they must be threaded through the vast expanse of all space. Because there’s no way to escape what once was felt [neither by ourselves nor by all of humanity]. There’s no such thing as moving on past experience and memory. We are all falling through realms filled with the scents of past flowers and gazed upon by the pair of eyes of our past lovers. Just like meteors, we fly and gather about us pieces and shards through which we grow and are soon made up of, before we even have a say in the matter. All that which we observe is scrawled hastily into us and then bade to dry quickly. It’s all a rather messy matter- this life.

I ‘let go’ again and again. Every day is releasing my grip. Every hour is filled with unsurfaced tears and attempts at freedom. The chest opens and yet I have no say over what stays and what leaves and who knocks and who moves on and never will again. Every orgasm reminds me that there’s no release; I am, in my warmest way, welcoming and folding.

And so I shiver and I shake with the weight of the darkness of past-ness; stale, festering pools of damp and liquid memory birth mosquitos every summer. The pests themselves they gather round and watch me and all that I’ve built up [inside & outside myself], their bellies full of poison.

I go on gathering flowers. I go on reading and listening to the crickets and the old voices [clear as day, calling from a space far above my falling-spot] which provoke me. I go on mourning. I go on loving. I go on breaking my God’s heart. I go on begging. I go on, alone.

And with every turn of the stomach; every leap of the frogs & of faith, I see perhaps more clearly the threads and the fabric of humanity and universal memory spread out before me. The colors blind and leap and descend below and rise above, covering me in unimaginable light.

This is my Journey and my Fall; this is my Voice and my Instinct.

Watch me blossom; watch me fade; look on with the eyes of a lover as I do upon all living things; unclench your fists; faithfully fall. 

Jun 2
Faithfully Fall

"I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it."

- Maya Angelou (via lazyyogi)

May 28
loverofbeauty:

The Fighter
May 14

loverofbeauty:

The Fighter

(Source: 3doggs)

"A good meditator is someone who is ready to accept who they really are, someone who is ready to accept their mind as it is."

- Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche (via lazyyogi)

May 13
May 4

filthybluecollar:

(1971) Karen Dalton - ‘Something On Your Mind’