Silence

The Paper Haunt

Filipino artist, Gregory Halili, carves intricate skulls into mother of pearl shells.

“I’m 24 years old and play this game with myself: buy myself something delicious for the weekend, blueberry muffins or flaky croissants, and forget it by Friday. Saturday morning comes and I am lucky to know me. I wasn’t born knowing how to love me, but I’m learning now; catching up for lost time between us. I keep the windows open. I play oldies throughout every corner of my apartment. I tell the dog how good it feels, at least for today, at least for right now, to be alive.”

— Schuyler Peck, Can’t Get Enough Of My Love (via schuylerpeck)

The Evening Angel (1848) - Alexandre Cabanel

rawest fucking hozier lyrics in no particular order:

i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight

heat of her breath in my mouth; im alive

i’d be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground

idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword

and when the earth is trembling on some new beginning with the same sweet shock of when adam first came

every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside

the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen

if I was born as a blackthorn tree i’d wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies

some like to imagine the dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do

before the wave hits, marveling at god; before he feels alone one final time and marries the sea

betray the moon as acolyte on first and fierce affirming sight

i have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me, I have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me

screaming the name of a foreigner’s god; the purest expression of grief

sweet and right and merciful, i’m all but washed in the tide of her breathing

but you don’t know the hell you put me through; to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

so i try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i’m imagining you

my head was war, my skin was soaked, I called your name ‘til the fever broke

be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking

remember me, love, when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

playlists i made inspired by literature pt 1

sitting alone in your mansion, you nurse your glass of champagne, you lay back on the chaise lounge, a cigarette in hand. you look up at the mauled, grotesque portrait that was once so beautiful. it was painted for you hundreds of years ago,and yet you have not aged a day. “i’m so sorry basil” you murmur

the year is 1832 and you in are in paris, you have been planning a revolution along with your friends for almost a year now. there is a fire in your belly, a war in your mind and you are ready to die for your blessed france, ready to die among your best friends. 

everything in this school is old and beautiful, and the classics are truly coming alive here. you are drinking wine every night, practising your latin and concerning yourself with the most odd looking, most enchanting friendship group. rumours of murder and divine intervention follow you wherever you go. something in this school is dionysian and deadly. 

Luzon Bleeding-Heart (Gallicolumba luzonica)

RB IF YOU AGREE

when oscar wilde wrote “there are moments when one has to choose between living one’s own life, fully, entirely, completely-or dragging out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy demands” i felt that