To-gentle-sea - Going Step By Step Means I'm Still Walking - Tumblr Blog

The annual transhumance of the herd A set of risography I made last June for the Paris City Pop !

auuuurghhhhhhhh

my arms! my legs! each lies a bloody ruin!.. but I will soon feast upon your heart!.. you too shall know fear! //

don't stop what you're doing or else you'll stop forever; keep in mind editing the whole thing later will be fun; if you're having a hard time it's probably because something isn't completely sorted out in your head; coming back to it with a clear mind later will be great; you can always start writing another section; etc. But keep going

perfectionism coming to haunt you when you tought you were done dealing with it is real. Alas i have found no way to face it that isn't "keep writing with your teeth clenched until you get to a point it's gone again"

perfectionism coming to haunt you when you tought you were done dealing with it is real. Alas i have found no way to face it that isn't "keep writing with your teeth clenched until you get to a point it's gone again"

''what if my writing isn't good eno--'' what if it's a reflection of your soul. what if it has a place in this world. what if you write it anyway

The Sentence

by Anna Akhmatova tr. Judith Hemschemeyer

And the stone word fell On my still-living breast. Never mind, I was ready. I will manage somehow.

Today I have so much to do: I must kill memory once and for all, I must turn my soul to stone, I must learn to live again —

Unless… Summer’s ardent rustling Is like a festival outside my window. For a long time I’ve foreseen this Brilliant day, deserted house.

Edvard Munch - Consolation.

Autumn Song

by Federico García Lorca tr. D.K. Fennell

Today I sense in my heart a vague tremor of stars, but I lost my way in the midst of fog. The light trims my wings and the pang of my gloom will moisten the memories at the font of knowledge.

All roses are white, as white as my sorrow, but the roses are not white that have snow on them. Once they dressed in a rainbow. Besides there’s snow on my soul. The snow of my soul is kissed by flakes and scenes which disappear in shadow or in light when thought of.

The snow falls from the roses, but the soul’s remains, and the grapple of the years makes a shroud of it.

Will the snow melt when death takes us? Or will there then be other snow and other roses more perfect? Will there be peace among us as Christ teaches us? Or will there never be a solution to this question?

And if love cheats us? Who will resurrect us if twilight buries us in the scientific truth of Good, which perhaps doesn’t exist, and Evil which flutters nearby.

What if hope gives way and Babel ensues, what torch will light the roads on Earth?

If the blue sky is a fantasy, what will become of innocence? What will become of the heart if Love has no arrows?

And if death is death, what will become of poets? and things in a cocoon which no one remembers? Oh sun of hopes! Clear water! New moon! Dull souls of stones! Today I sense in my heart a vague tremor of stars and all roses are as white as my sorrow.

having OC’s is crazy for real because no one else gives a fuck meanwhile you’ll be at the function thinking about them (guys who are not real) like

they can't stop me from thinking about my wip in class

"Have you heard? The tree cracked and started to rot as she digged her claws into it. Even completely rotted, she is still hanging there. She'll never let us go"

Inktober, theme 2: Rot

Under the Stars - Lisa Benson

New Zealand , b. 1966 -

Linocut print ,  27 x 35 cm. Ed. 40 /50

when im writing something that i think is terrible i always try to apply the "change of perspective" method, especially as i write with the good ol' pen and ink:

Even if it ends up being bad it's probably not half as horrible as i think it is;

Scenes and events take time to write, especially on paper, so obviously even the shortest bit seems to be dragging on after a while;

Consequently look when the given scene started. It was probably a page ago, not ten, so it cant be bad to the point of ruining the overall project.

🌿rusalochky🌿

"The Swimmer" Short animation thing I made a while ago.

I am noticing that a lot of my work has water in it in some form.

Andrew Catanese - In This Place My Head Is Always Spinning, But Not In A Bad Way, 2024 - Oil on canvas

Ursula le Guin

fairytales which tell you to be both kind and clever fairytales that say to be kind is to be clever and to be clever is to be kind fairytales that say the cleverest thing you can ever do is choose kindness and that cruelty or thoughtlessness are always foolish but not kindness never kindness

Sonnet 89

by Pablo Neruda tr. Paul Weinfield

When I die, I want your hands on my eyes: I want the light and the wheat of the hands I adore to spread their freshness across me once again: I want to feel the softness that has shaped my life.

I want for you to live while I wait for you, asleep, for your ears to keep on listening to the wind, for you to smell the sea that we both loved together, to walk across the sand that we feel beneath our feet.

I want what I love to go on without me, and you whom I love and sang about above all else to continue to bloom, to be always in full flower

so you can complete what my love has set in motion so my shadow can wander the long length of your hair, so everything can understand the reason for my song.

Byron Cooper (1850 - 1933) - Moonrise from the Downs. 1891. Oil on canvas.