to make each person's soul expand and fly

the force that through the green fuse drives the flower
drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
is my destroyer.
and I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
my youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

the force that drives the water through the rocks
drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
turns mine to wax.
and I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
how at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

the hand that whirls the water in the pool
stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing blind
hauls my shroud sail.
and I am dumb to tell the hanging man
how of my clay is made the hangman's lime.

the lips of time leech to the fountain head;
love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
shall calm her sores.
and I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
how time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

and I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
how at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

- the force that through the green fuse drives the flower by dylan thomas


the beautiful boys of hedi slimane

via hedislimane.com


love, love, love, that is the soul of genius

i don't think i'll ever have another like you for i might retire in so far, or go crazy or eccentric, like louis ferdinand céline. i can't think of anybody, anybody who knows the sum and substance of what i know and feel and cry about in my secret self all the time when i don't feel strong, the sorrows of time and personality, and can therefore on all levels make it all the way with me - who knows and loves even jazz as i do, and digs it as i do, who's been AROUND and then some. i dig like you did, i dig jazz, a 1000 things in america. i make notes about it, i know the secrets; i dig joyce and proust above melville and céline, like you; and i dig you as we together dig the lostness and the fact that of course nothing's ever to be gained but death; i only wanted to tell you how great i think you are (after all). 

- from visions of cody by jack kerouac

happy valentine's day all

love enchanted

susan sarandon, michelle pfeiffer and cher under jack nicholson's lovespell in The witches of eastwick from 1987



i think this must be my favorite photo of her

the alchemy of preparing food



what bliss

julianne jones and didier murat, bakers, ay vergenes laundrey in vergennes in vermont via theselby.com