love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places
yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skillfully curled)
all worlds
[e.e. cummings]
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
Are you sure what side of the glass you are on?
What if you could look right through the cracks
Would you find yourself...
Find yourself afraid to see?
[NIN - Right Where It Belongs]
Would you find yourself...
Find yourself afraid to see?
[NIN - Right Where It Belongs]
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Lights..
All that I feardon´t turn away
and leave me to plead in this hole of a place
what if I never break
estuary won´t you take me
far away
(INTERPOL LIVE IN ATHENS | JUNE 7, 2011)
and leave me to plead in this hole of a place
what if I never break
estuary won´t you take me
far away
(INTERPOL LIVE IN ATHENS | JUNE 7, 2011)
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Déracinement..
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
(1564 - 1616)
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
(1564 - 1616)
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