unlitstairs

softcollapse:

Deaf Center, Hunted Twice

cities:

‘The words of others are mistakes of our hearing, shipwrecks of our understanding. How confidently we believe in our meanings of other people’s words. We hear death in words they speak to express sensual bliss. We read sensuality and life in words they drop from their lips without the slightest intention of being profound.

The voice of brooks that you interpret, pure explicator…the voice of trees whose rustling means what we say it means…ah, my unknown love, this is all just us and our fantasies, all ash, trickling down the bars of our cell!’

— Fernando Pessoa

dataobscura:

Marsen Jules and Anders Weberg

dataobscura:

The hours of August still wind you
in scents of the mild garden air,
Ivy and speedwell still bind you
A wreath for your wind-tangled hair.

Like gold is the wavering wheat, though
Perhaps less exultant and full,
Late-blooming roses still great, though
The sheen of their colours grew dull.

Then let us conceal what defies us
And turn to felicity, for
The one thing which is not denied us
Is walking together once more.

Stefan George
from The Year of the Soul (1897)
(trans Olga Marx & Ernst Morwitz)

genevieve-bjargardottir:

untitled by chrisfriel on Flickr.

(via genevieve-bjargardottir-deactiv)

Columbian Exposition, Chicago (1892) by Childe Hassam