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New age fun with a vintage feel

The purpose of this blog is keeping track of my diversive thoughts and feelings, which mostly vary from romanticism, impressionism to existentialism and expressionism.

For that matter, most of the posts I publish are of my own writing, unless it is stated otherwise. All of the stories, poems, quotes and contemplations I have written myself are tagged under "My writing".

Enjoy :)

When you want to write, you first have to catch the right vibration of feeling in the air, matching the right vibration of feelings in you heart. Once you catch it, don’t let it go, hold on to it until you’ve made love with a pen and paper, and when it’s done, thank it with all your heart, leaving it open for next time when it will want to visit you again…

— laleex

God I miss Paris!

God I miss Paris!

(Source: escapetraveldream, via ldnsyndrome)

lottereinigerforever:

"Vertigo" US poster

lottereinigerforever:

"Vertigo" US poster

phantomblogger:

Tippi Hedren on the set of The Birds.

phantomblogger:

Tippi Hedren on the set of The Birds.

Live the full life of the mind, exhilarated by new ideas, intoxicated by the Romance of the unusual.

—Ernest Hemingway

Talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and I’ll kiss you for it.

—Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment (via playthehardsix)

(Source: i-am-evolution, via dama-iz-fikcije)

Depth of friendship does not depend on length of acquaintance.

—Rabindranath Tagore (via aestheticintrovert)

(Source: itsquoted, via peachc4ke-deactivated20140611)

Poem: “The Journey,” by Mary Oliver, from Dreamwork (Atlantic Monthly Press).
The Journey One day you finally knew  what you had to do, and began,  though the voices around you  kept shouting  their bad advice— though the whole house  began to tremble  and you felt the old tug  at your ankles.  “Mend my life!”  each voice cried.  But you didn’t stop.  You knew what you had to do,  though the wind pried  with its stiff fingers  at the very foundations,  though their melancholy  was terrible.  It was already late  enough, and a wild night,  and the road full of fallen  branches and stones.  But little by little,  as you left their voices behind,  the stars began to burn  through the sheets of clouds,  and there was a new voice  which you slowly  recognized as your own,  that kept you company  as you strode deeper and deeper  into the world  determined to do  the only thing you could do— determined to save the only life you could save.
photo by Christian Coigny, 2008

Poem: “The Journey,” by Mary Oliver, from Dreamwork (Atlantic Monthly Press).

The Journey One day you finally knew 
what you had to do, and began, 
though the voices around you 
kept shouting 
their bad advice—
though the whole house 
began to tremble 
and you felt the old tug 
at your ankles. 
“Mend my life!” 
each voice cried. 
But you didn’t stop. 
You knew what you had to do, 
though the wind pried 
with its stiff fingers 
at the very foundations, 
though their melancholy 
was terrible. 
It was already late 
enough, and a wild night, 
and the road full of fallen 
branches and stones. 
But little by little, 
as you left their voices behind, 
the stars began to burn 
through the sheets of clouds, 
and there was a new voice 
which you slowly 
recognized as your own, 
that kept you company 
as you strode deeper and deeper 
into the world 
determined to do 
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.

photo by Christian Coigny, 2008

Monday morning hangovers

We were just so crazy
running from here to there,
trying to hold sunsets 
in the palms of our hands,
but nothing would last,
not even Monday morning hangovers….

So we would drink beer
and laugh to nonsense
and look into each others eyes
and not know what we would see
and we would touch each others bodies
and not know what we would feel

We would go on the streets at night
to drive our motorbikes
through all the unlit roads,
passing all the Cicle K’s and Mini marts
the more we sought for stars
the more they were left unseen.

So we would sit and stare
at parks and football fields,
watching children play,
asking ourselves what does it all mean

But no one would answer
so we would spend more money
on gas and plane tickets and
travel far and eat shitty food
all for what? Just a feeling of ease?

But ease is nothing more than a breeze,
it comes and goes
just like my heart,
it never knows what is the end
and what the start

it’s always, always,
just confusion
mixed with the sky,
mixed with summer
and broken knees,

which pain is so stiff and yet so smooth
like the warm blood slowly 
dripping down your legs,
such an intimate feeling 
you can’t share with anyone,
otherwise they will think you’re insane.

So we wipe off the blood
and rub it between our fingers
and pick ourselves up,
anyway when we can feel the distance
the pain goes away

But we love to stay close
to danger, to heat, to sex,
to whatever brings us back
to Monday morning hangovers…


I want to fall asleep in myself
and wake up inside of you.

—laleex

Nº. 1 of  34