triumph of a heart


katrina leah
(1988-); bright-eyed, optimistic, never-give-upper.




 

You must accept

You must accept that’s who he really is.
You must accept that you cannot be his
unless he can be yours. No compromise.
He is a canvas on which paint never dries;
a clay that never sets; he’s steel that bends
in a breeze; he’s a melody that when it ends
no one can whistle; he is not who
you thought. He’s not. He is a shoe
that walks away: “I will not go where you
want to go.” “Why, then, are you a shoe?”
“I’m not. I have the sole of a lover
but don’t know what love is.” “Discover
it, then.” “Will I have to go where you go?”
“Sometimes.” “Be patient with you?” “Yes.” “Then, no.”
You have to hear what he is telling you
and see what he is; how it is killing you.

(Kate Light)


















presidents: Jacques Derrida’s study.

it’s pretty sober for a bricoleur!

presidents: Jacques Derrida’s study.

it’s pretty sober for a bricoleur!












‘We are too unobservant or too self-centred to fathom one another. Anyone who has seen masks at a ball, dancing amicably together, and holding hands without recognizing one another, only to part a moment later, and neither to meet again nor miss one another, can form a conception of the world at large.’
-

Luc de Clapiers de Vauvenargues, ‘Reflections and Maxims’

/44:













Yatsunori Mitsuda, The Scar of Time

Oddly, this is a nice song to wake up to: starts off slow and majestic, escalates into something like dancing and living and going somewhere far-off.












People in love are in fact condemned to go on learning the other’s language indefinitely, groping around, seeking out the keys – keys that are always revocable. Love is a labyrinth of misunderstandings whose way out doesn’t exist.
- Jacques-Alain Miller












Music in the Morning

When I think of the years he drank, the scars
on his chin, his thinning hair, his eye that still weeps
decades after the blow, my knees weaken with gratitude 
for whatever kept him safe, whatever stopped 
the glass from cracking and shearing something vital, 
the fist from lowering, exploding an artery, pressing
the clot of blood toward the back of his brain. 
Now, he sits calmly on the couch, reading, 
refusing to wear the glasses I bought him,
holding the open book at arm’s length from his chest.
Behind him the windows are smoky with mist
and the tile floor is pushing its night chill
up through the bare soles of his feet. I like to think
he survived in order to find me, in order
to arrive here, sober, tired from a long night 
of tongues and hands and thighs, music
on the radio, coffee— so he could look up and see me,
standing in the kitchen in his torn t-shirt,
the hem of it brushing my knees, but I know
it’s only luck that brought him here, luck
and a love that had nothing to do with me,

except that this is what we sometimes get if we live
long enough, if we are patient with our lives.



(Dorianne Laux)



















He says my beauty comes from lectures—especially when they are boring.In fact, this love of theirs is boring, and sometimes I cover them with mist to feel
“this true fair world of things, a sea reflecting love.”
— Jonathan Cott, “He dreams what is going on inside his head”

He says my beauty comes from lectures—
especially when they are boring.
In fact, this love of theirs is boring, 
and sometimes I cover them with mist to feel

“this true fair world of things, a sea reflecting love.”

— Jonathan Cott, “He dreams what is going on inside his head”












Guillemots, Made Up Love Song (Off-Guard Acoustic version)

Fyfe Dangerfield et. al. sing softly and sweetly to you, you, and you from the back of a VW Camper van. Idyllic and lovely.


















Tamara de Lempicka
via paulisdying (I think he has some of the nicest taste in art posts — oldies, goodies, and everything in between. He keeps tumbling things that remind me how awesome painting can still be.)

Tamara de Lempicka

via paulisdying (I think he has some of the nicest taste in art posts — oldies, goodies, and everything in between. He keeps tumbling things that remind me how awesome painting can still be.)


















Jean Béraud, After the Misdeed
(via paulisdying)

Jean Béraud, After the Misdeed

(via paulisdying)


















paper tiger (via estampillas)

paper tiger (via estampillas)


















(via funeralface)
















Sarah Meadows
















Josh GosfieldGigi & Etienne, September 1962 Archival pigment, printed 2009 11 x 15 inches

Josh Gosfield
Gigi & Etienne, September 1962
Archival pigment, printed 2009 
11 x 15 inches


















We stay here for now, Sarah Meadows

We stay here for now, Sarah Meadows