the view from here

i always seem to sneeze when i have a mug of coffee in my hand

I’m torn between feeling free, not having to worry about someone else effecting me every minute of the day and having time to work on myself and this crushing, heavy weight in my chest that makes me want to run away, hide in a cave and constantly drink coffee before I pass out due to lack of sleep

Posted Monday 21st May, 2012 at 2:04am with 1 note

Posted Saturday 12th May, 2012 at 12:38am with 405 notes

You know, I do believe in magic. I was born and raised in a magic time, in a magic town, among magicians. Oh, most everybody else didn’t realize we lived in that web of magic, connected by silver filaments of chance and circumstance. But I knew it all along. When I was twelve years old, the world was my magic lantern, and by its green spirit glow I saw the past, the present and into the future. You probably did too; you just don’t recall it. See, this is my opinion: we all start out knowing magic. We are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us. We are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds and see our destiny in grains of sand. But then we get the magic educated right out of our souls. We get it churched out, spanked out, washed out, and combed out. We get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible. Told to act our age. Told to grow up, for God’s sake. And you know why we were told that? Because the people doing the telling were afraid of our wildness and youth, and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.
After you go so far away from it, though, you can’t really get it back. You can have seconds of it. Just seconds of knowing and remembering. When people get weepy at movies, it’s because in that dark theater the golden pool of magic is touched, just briefly. Then they come out into the hard sun of logic and reason again and it dries up, and they’re left feeling a little heartsad and not knowing why. When a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. For the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm.
That’s what I believe.

— Robert McCammon -Boy’s Life

Posted Saturday 12th May, 2012 at 12:36am with 2 notes

(via absolutelyinlovewithhim)

Posted Friday 4th May, 2012 at 2:16am with 3,535 notes

Pair of miniature longstitch books with buttoned fore-edge flaps. 2011 (Advanced Book Arts)

The paper inside these books includes pages from discarded library books, old letters and lists, scraps of handmade paper, technical manuals, and various other random bits and pieces. It was made for a project in which each student received an envelope of paper scraps to use in any way desired.

(Source: cpfffr)

Posted Tuesday 24th January, 2012 at 3:32pm with 83 notes

Miniature book with box. 2011 (Advanced Book Arts)

The paper inside this book is primarily graph paper, ledger paper, employee time sheets, and the like. It was made for a project in which each student received an envelope of paper scraps to use as material.

(Source: cpfffr)

Posted Tuesday 24th January, 2012 at 3:31pm with 112 notes

(Source: suivezlamode, via raindropsnroses)

Posted Thursday 5th January, 2012 at 3:08pm with 5,915 notes

And the arms that hold the universe are holding you tonight…

— (via be-the-change)

Posted Monday 2nd January, 2012 at 10:56am with 23 notes