theartofanimation:

Dan McCarthy

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Reblogged from theartofanimation

mydarkenedeyes:

By Annemarie Rysz

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Reblogged from bookspaperscissors

Today is the first day. The first day that I have released the grip of work on my mind. As it loosens I hope that the ideas will not suffocate anymore. I am no longer a full-time worker. I work to pay for the essentials. The rest of my time is given to focus, that focus being writing. I have long put this off and have wasted my mind because of it. I am grateful that I have stories to tell. At the moment there are numerous so I am going to start small and work my way up. For the first time I am being brave, putting my words down instead of secretly hiding them from prying eyes. It’s silly to hide in this way. I will be brave, I will firmly press the words to page and let the sentences follow. Small steps, yet moving and not static as I was once before. Movement good, static bad. The movement does not have to have direction all the time, it keeps the limbs loose and limber so when a direction is set upon it happens without question. The questions can follow. So what next?

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda 1904

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muscavomitoria:

The Catacombs of Paris

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Paris has a deeper and stranger connection to its underground than almost any city, and that underground is one of the richest. The arteries and intestines of Paris, the hundreds of miles of tunnels that make up some of the oldest and densest subway and sewer networks in the world, are just the start of it. Under Paris there are spaces of all kinds: canals and reservoirs, crypts and bank vaults, wine cellars transformed into nightclubs and galleries. Most surprising of all are the carrières—the old stone quarries that fan out in a deep and intricate web under many neighborhoods, mostly in the southern part of the metropolis.

These sections of caverns and tunnels have been transformed into underground ossuaries, holding the remains of about 6 million people. Opened in the late 18th century, the underground cemetery became a tourist attraction on a small scale from the early 19th century, and has been open to the public on a regular basis from 1874.

The official name for these subterranean veins is l’Ossuaire Municipal. Although the cemetery portion covers only a small section of underground tunnels comprising “les carrières de Paris”, Parisians today often refer to the entire tunnel network as “The Catacombs.”

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Reblogged from story-dj