Ask me anything


Sexty years odd, with a besotted fondness for literalture, aritfice and joycean puns all of which runs rampant through my life and by extention this blog alzo. i live by a creek in the hills of northern california with the love of my life. i spend most of my time taking care of my land, growing stuff and creating stuff. it's a good life.
He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.
Arundhati Roy — from The God of Small Things (via slothnorentropy)
3 days ago
226 notes

Swedish Sun Dog Painting, 1535.


Swedish Sun Dog Painting, 1535.

(via shentoncarrington)

2 weeks ago
170 notes

Jupe # 69


Tell me that I can be looser, forced,

Forest-lost in the thicket tangle of your

Intricate, dangerous thinking, falling

Into the heart of the dark woodland,

Slackening pace to be discovered here

By gorgeous, bewildering creatures,

By your troubling strangeness. I lose.

(via shentoncarrington)

2 weeks ago
6 notes


so you know how clouds are only solidified as monuments upon observation? when you remove your eye, they return to the pure nature of flow and water. i think that’s how i justify my inactivity. that somehow i can substantiate myself by never allowing myself to join the flux, that somehow what i’ve created as myself through constant selection and strengthening of my unreality might disappear if i’m initiated into life. never pick the flower, right?

3 days ago
8 notes


Heartbeat Sounds in Ten Languages

Hearts are pretty cool, you guys. They pump a bunch of blood around the body and keep you alive or something.

Thanks, hearts! Keep on doing that thing that you do.

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(via sci-universe)

2 weeks ago
12,673 notes
The summer field, sun-fed, mutable,
has its many tasks; the winter field
becomes its adjective.
Ellen Bryant Voigt, from “Winter Field” in The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry, ed. J.D. McClatchy (Vintage, 2003)

(Source: afallowfield, via a-weltanschauung)

2 weeks ago
40 notes