stuff i dig

• Vinyl is the Answer • ⋅ Funny how a Melody Sounds Like a Memory ⋅


• Vinyl is the Answer •

⋅ Funny how a Melody Sounds Like a Memory ⋅


to live in this world

you must be able
to do three things
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

—Mary Oliver (via observando)

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

— Mary Oliver (via realizes)

Forgive me

I’m sorry to anyone who has sent private messages to me on this site.  More messages than I can count and that I’ve never responded to. Not because they have been read and I suddenly froze and not because I deemed you unworthy of a reply. Nothing like that.

I only check this site from a mobile phone and what shows up via desktop is so different, as I just now realized. I’m not dialed into this site, except from a tiny screen, and always on-the-go. 

So call me a luddite, but never unkind. 

About the tenacious dude ( I assume you are a dude, idk…) who keeps asking me for selfies. I’ve posted a few, and move on. I am older than you and not interested in any kind of date. I’ve got plenty of friends, lovers, mentors, mirrors, buddies…That’s not why I’m here. I’m here because there are creative people who take time to post interesting things that help me feel less alone in the world. Or maybe I think you share images and random things that are just plain beautiful. 

Muses are here. That is pretty cool. I see writing here that is pretty spot on. None of us live in a vacuum, but online communications sans body language and eye contact are vaguely uncomfortable. 

Thank you. For your posts, for messages that I failed to return, and for being so vital that you caught my rather disloyal and definitely fleeting attention. 

Peace in The Middle East, and in general, 


At last she looked up at him. Her eyes were full of tears, and her look unbearably naked. Such looks we have all once or twice in our lives received and shared; they are those in which worlds melt, pasts dissolve, moments when we know, in the resolution of profoundest need, that the rock of ages can never be anything else but love, here, now, in these two hands’ joining, in this blind silence in which one head comes to rest beneath the other.

—John Fowles, The French Lieutenant’s Woman (via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)

(Source: haylr, via h-o-r-n-g-r-y)


Took one small step today. Allowing that awful sadness in and then out, after seeing where he died.

I am most certainly not ready to see any of it.