i lose track of time
©
fish
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Hello, I'm Madeleine.
Do you know what I would answer to someone who asked me for a description of myself, in a hurry?
This:
?? !!
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“For Christ sake write and don’t worry about what the boys will say nor whether it will be a masterpiece nor what. I write one page of masterpiece to ninety one pages of shit. I try to put the shit in the wastebasket.”
— Ernest Hemingway (in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald)
(Source: zen-kitty, via writingfromthebones)
“Make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty.”
— Jon Krakauer, Into The Wild (via dirrtyflowerchild)
(Source: iksplor, via herbalwriting)
Can Brain Scans Really Tell Us What Makes Something Beautiful?
When art meets neuroscience, strange things happen.
Consider the Museum of Scientifically Accurate Fabric Brain Art in Oregon which features rugs and knitting based on a brain scan motif. Or the neuroscientist at the University of Nevada-Reno who scanned the brain of a portrait artist while he drew a picture of a face.
I was wondering what Muse’s album cover was!
5.17.13
this time around is
new
you are born
paper shredded
in heavy arms
masquerade and
new bedding
crept on like
stilts in sand
held awake
at the funeral
every thought
funneled into black
bags left on curbs
near all veins
of design
(crooked
spray paint lines
on grass)
no utensil
can consume you
skin deep
the earth
consumes you
still
At home with the common cold, writing sappy songs.
Mitchell Davis - The Path of an Edge
