Kareem Iliya

Via Observer

There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can never get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.

From Red Wind by Raymond Chandler (via oldfilmsflicker) Via the poor dancing girl she won't dance again

La Jetée



Isamu Noguchi ‘s “Lonely Tower” – Shigaraki stoneware with thin ash glaze made in 1952 – with ikebana by Teshigahara Sofu.



For Beauty’s nothing but beginning of Terror we’re still just able to bear, and why we adore it so is because it serenely disdains to destroy us

– ~Ranier Maria Rilke (1875-1926)

Face To Face

~Ingmar Bergman (1976)

This morning there’s snow everywhere. We remark on it.
You tell me you didn’t sleep well. I say
I didn’t either. You had a terrible night. “Me too.”
We’re extraordinarily calm and tender with each other
as if sensing the other’s rickety state of mind.
As if we knew what the other was feeling. We don’t,
of course. We never do. No matter.
It’s the tenderness I care about. That’s the gift
this morning that moves and holds me.
Same as every morning.

– Raymond Carver, last strophe to “The Gift,” from Ultramarine (Random House, 1986).

How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.

Virginia Woolf, The Waves

(via serialstranger)

Via The Lifting of the Veil



Ultraworld II (2013)

animated version

The importance of insomnia is so colossal that I am tempted to define man as the animal who cannot sleep. Why call him a rational animal when other animals are equally reasonable? But there is not another animal in the entire creation that wants to sleep yet cannot.

Emil Cioran

(via deaths-and-entrances)

(Source: blackestdespondency)

Via The Lifting of the Veil


NUDE No. 3272 (61 x 43 cm), grey paper, DEC 2013

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