He takes her in his arms
He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you
But he thinks this is a lie, so he says in the end
You’re dead, nothing can hurt you
which seems to him a more promising beginning, more true.

— Louise Glück (via cactuslungs)

There will be a few times in your life when all your instincts will tell you to do something, something that defies logic, upsets your plans, and may seem crazy to others. When that happens, you do it. Listen to your instincts and ignore everything else. Ignore logic, ignore the odds, ignore the complications, and just go for it.

— Judith McNaught, Remember When (via kushandwizdom)


Felix Gonzalez-TorresUntitled (Perfect Lovers) 1991. Clocks, paint on wall.
Untitled (Perfect Lovers) consists of two clocks, which start in synchronisation, and slowly, inevitably fall out of time due to the failure of the batteries and the nature of the mechanism. In a moving comment on his personal experiences, the piece refers to Gonzalez-Torres’ HIV positive partner Ross Laycock, and his slow decline and inevitable death due to AIDS. The clocks act as two mechanical heartbeats; representative of two lives destined to fall out of sync, and holds a poignant poetry about personal loss and the temporal nature of life.
“Don’t be afraid of the clocks, they are our time, time has been so generous to us…We conquered fate by meeting at a certain time in a certain space…we are synchronized, now forever. I love you.”

Wanda Koop

Here is the ache of August that lives inside me,
all bruised knuckles and lantern mouths.
I am the high noon of letting go,
the reason you shade your eyes from the sun.

Shelby Asquith, Do Not Mistake My Pain For Weakness (via cactuslungs)

hong kong

true i’m sorry for not thinking critically and reblogging that Hong Kong post that ended w a request to sign the US petition. [the US needs to stop imposing itself and deal w internal problems like for example how it gives military equipment to regional police departments.] THAT BEING SAID, the international community has a responsibility to be aware of what is happening, so i encourage my followers to read up on what’s going on in HK and keep it in your thoughts.

june was running until there were trees,
moving every day towards the eye-level sun
up hills behind red brick buildings where there was new growth and nothing lost and inhaling.

july was the exhale,
very very very slow and still
and wide eyed shock and searching,
nights spent in weird spaces
and the days—were green, i think.

august, i don’t remember—
but i think there was bitter coffee and teeth baring airplanes and a lot of alone.

the first day of fall, s.w

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