LIGHTNINGBOLTS OF BLOOD

Sophie, 19.


tombstonesgrey:

"DLM" by James Blake

(791 plays)
cinoh:

Xu Bing (徐冰), b. 1955 ChongqingLife Pond, 1987woodcut; ink inscription

cinoh:

Xu Bing (徐冰), b. 1955 Chongqing
Life Pond, 1987
woodcut; ink inscription

Albums I listened to yesterday: Beach House - Bloom // Tycho - Dive // The Drums - Portamento //

These are the same flowers I used in my last selfie, only now they are very tired. So am I. Thank you for taking an interest in my little corner of the internet, new followers — and thank you for still being here and keeping me company, preexisting ones. I love you all.

These are the same flowers I used in my last selfie, only now they are very tired. So am I. Thank you for taking an interest in my little corner of the internet, new followers — and thank you for still being here and keeping me company, preexisting ones. I love you all.

(Source: lonelyworshipper)

Over the ocean, suspended in cold air, I was afraid to speak. At once I felt an affinity for the quiet. It made me feel still, my limbs restful, the air kissing my bones. I did not feel so important there, standing on the edge of the cliffs, blanketed in shadow. I felt aware of every detail; an observer, detached from the world.

"Perhaps I am, perhaps we all are: mere observers of this earth, leaving our intricacies behind."

For all of the nothingness we project into meaning, there is so much left unseen. And it is all for the sake of voidable patterns; patterns we created out of our own vulnerability and weakness; our own need for validation and “success”.

We must sometimes remember: we are all dust, and that is okay. In the end, we are mortal.

There is something comforting about the breakdown of our bodies; the way they grow weary as we trip towards rest. The temporariness of our existence, it is calming. It is a comfort to know that the earth will take us again, and we are nothing but visitors here.

(Source: lonelyworshipper)