Small Things

I explore alone, worlds and words. I write haiku.

“He tells me to look at the sky, bordered by white and blue
He tells me, sit here, in the curve of my body,
take this cold hand, sweet in mine.”

lonelyheartsdeathmetal:

musterni-illustrates:

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a new zine called shitty horoscopes that i’ll be premiering this year at the Toronto Queer Zine Fair, among other things! hopefully i’ll make volumes available for online purchase soon. credit where credit is due: this was inspired by the huge number of made-up horoscopes floating around tumblr lately, and angry-poems.

yup, the Libra one is pretty accurate

(via bisouette)

“Who are the people that you loved, we ask each other. The ones who were like trees in you
Rooted to ribs and heart, popping through the broken earth”

—   I Wish I Wrote More When I Burned with It 

My nightmares always
begin with the falling teeth I
spit into my palm

Preludes to madness begin
with such small realities

—   Nightmares: A Tanka
archivesofamericanart:

A lifetime captured in a GIF. Sculptor Katharine Lane Weems wrote in her diaries for 60 years, from when she a young girl with a passion for art and dogs into a mature woman and accomplished wildlife sculptor.
Her diaries will be on exhibit in “A Day in the Life: Artists’ Diaries from the Archives of American Art." The exhibit opens Friday, September 26 in our Lawrence A. Fleischman Gallery.

archivesofamericanart:

A lifetime captured in a GIF. Sculptor Katharine Lane Weems wrote in her diaries for 60 years, from when she a young girl with a passion for art and dogs into a mature woman and accomplished wildlife sculptor.

Her diaries will be on exhibit in “A Day in the Life: Artists’ Diaries from the Archives of American Art." The exhibit opens Friday, September 26 in our Lawrence A. Fleischman Gallery.

“Trapped moth flutters
against the beams, the windows are
wide open”

By Liu Maochan

(Source: geritsel, via jardineraindoor)

See you all at Tamang Bigkas this September 27, 2014! I’m performing. 0_0 with some of the most talented Pinoy poets I know. If you happen to be in the City of Pines this weekend, drop on by! Entrance is free! 
Let’s go! 

When Van Gogh was a young man in his early twenties, he was in London studying to be a clergyman. He had no thought of being an artist at all. he sat in his cheap little room writing a letter to his younger brother in Holland, whom he loved very much. He looked out his window at a watery twilight, a thin lamppost, a star, and he said in his letter something like this: “it is so beautiful I must show you how it looks.” And then on his cheap ruled note paper, he made the most beautiful, tender, little drawing of it.

When I read this letter of Van Gogh’s it comforted me very much and seemed to throw a clear light on the whole road of Art. Before, I thought that to produce a work of painting or literature, you scowled and thought long and ponderously and weighed everything solemnly and learned everything that all artists had ever done aforetime, and what their influences and schools were, and you were extremely careful about *design* and *balance* and getting *interesting planes* into your painting, and avoided, with the most astringent severity, showing the faintest *academical* tendency, and were strictly modern. And so on and so on.

But the moment I read Van Gogh’s letter I knew what art was, and the creative impulse. It is a feeling of love and enthusiasm for something, and in a direct, simple, passionate and true way, you try to show this beauty in things to others, by drawing it.

And Van Gogh’s little drawing on the cheap note paper was a work of art because he loved the sky and the frail lamppost against it so seriously that he made the drawing with the most exquisite conscientiousness and care.

—   Brenda UelandIf You Want to Write: A Book about Art, Independence and Spirit (via raggedybearcat)

(Source: nyctaeus, via euclase2)