Happy place.
Appling, Georgia, April 2026

oozey mess

Origami Around
trying on a metaphor
Stranger Things

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
we're not kids anymore.
$LAYYYTER
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
almost home
Cosimo Galluzzi
occasionally subtle
cherry valley forever

"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"


if i look back, i am lost
h
macklin celebrini has autism

Discoholic 🪩
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@blubberingwaddlingduck
Happy place.
Appling, Georgia, April 2026

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Crumbs and shards of a fractured man
How does one verbalize the rawness of emotion? In it’s simplest form. One or two words don’t do it justice. And one length cannot properly convey the meaning. As much as one may try to imbibe in colorful words that prattle on and on, one can really only make sense of things as it throbs in your head. In your heart. I. A full-length mirror You came very randomly. Amidst a sea of people and…
Evening rose
Gold wove into finest thread,falls like summer evening’s kiss.Framing painter’s careful work;soft landscape such as this.Intense and burning orange aboveworks down on all belowpetals, softest pink, of rosea pale enticing glowhopes are destined long to livebefore they’re let to flyhope is a thing with feathersnot easy to be put at restharder still to let them die. What do you see # 349- 13…
Sunsets, Strawberries, and Poems
It's a weird thing, really. This need to write. Where there is no other orifice or outlet that can ever be the container for the things that just want to… to explode. to ooze. to drip. (out) The need to write.Something about writing for myself calms me down. The thought that you aren’t hindered or restricted to certain guidelines of forms. The only structure you need to be wary of is the…
The Wildest Bet Is The Winning Bet
BY MARIA POPOVA
You wouldn’t have bet on it, the battered rock orbiting a star from the discount bin of the universe, wouldn’t have guessed that it would bloom mitochondria and music, that it would mushroom mountains and minds,
and the hummingbird wing whirring a hundred times faster than your eye can blink,
and your eye that took five hundred million years from trilobite to telescope,
and the unhurried orange lichen growing on the black boulder two hundred times more slowly than the tectonic plates beneath are drifting apart
and the marbled orca carrying her dead calf down the entire edge of the continent, carrying the weight of consciousness
and consciousness how it windows this tenement of breath and bone with wonder, how it hovers over everything, gigantic and unnecessary, like music, like love.
❦❦❦
via themarginalian.org

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“Life will break you,” Louise Erdrich wrote in her passionate insistence that “you are here to risk your heart.” It can happen with a shattering, or with a thousand small fissures, but the great paradox — the great salvation — is that every time it happens, you live to see you are unbreakable.
-Maria Popova
Sarah Jacoby, from Maria Popova's The Coziest Place on the Moon (2025)
The flower doesn’t go from bud to blossom in one spritely burst and yet, as a culture, we’re disinterested in the tedium of the blossoming. But that’s where all the real magic unfolds in the making of one’s character and destiny.
— Maria Popova
No one you love is ever dead.
Hemingway on how to live through loss and the meaning of life.
Sauerland, North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany
sauerland.naturfoto

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Medicine Bow National Forest, Wyoming; 7/10/2026
Supercell, Amur Oblast
alexkuz_shots
To little best of me, if it be your destiny to exist
Grief, we're often told, comes in stages. They even came up with an acronym for it. DABDA. I Denial. II Anger. III Bargaining. IV Depression. And the last stage is Acceptance. This is what they thought us in medical school, grief having a last stage, an ending. Like a checklist we can eventually complete. A year ago is when I had a different thought about grief. Grief is much more messier, and…
“But the paradox of love is perhaps the same as that of art, which Jeanette Winterson so elegantly termed “the paradox of active surrender” — in order for either to transform us, we must let it turn us over and inside-out. That is what Rilke called love’s great exacting claim, and in that claim lies its ultimate reward.”
— Maria Popova, “Kafka’s Beautiful and Heartbreaking Love Letters”
Each love we love and unlove alters the way we walk through life, alters the trajectory of our traversal along the shoreline of the self. The only constant is that we go on walking, that we remain pilgrims of possibility. We would not walk if we had already arrived. We would not write if we had already arrived. Out of our incompleteness and our disorientation, out of our longing and our wanderlust, arises the motive force of every love and every revolution, of our science and our art, of our creation and self-creation. Every creative act is an act of traversal.
Maria Popova, Traversal

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"Where does love go when it goes? It is a common question, contrived in its commonness yet savagely sincere...It feels like nothing less than a violation of the laws of the universe—how love alone can defy the first law of thermodynamics, how this most immense energy of being can simply dissipate into the oceanic austerity of time."
Maria Popova, Traversal
When people try to tell you who you are, don’t believe them. You are the only custodian of your own integrity, and the assumptions made by those that misunderstand who you are and what you stand for reveal a great deal about them and absolutely nothing about you.
— Maria Popova