Lust for Life & a Dangerous Mind

What the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.

You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.

Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934 

(Source: immortels, via didyoueatallthisacid)

(Source: ramblersbone)

boniverotica:

When our friends came to visit, Bon Iver gave directions: Drive down the highway until the road turns to gravel, take a left where the pop factory used to be, and follow the creek until the trees begin to clear. You’ll smell the woodsmoke before you see the house.

boniverotica:

When our friends came to visit, Bon Iver gave directions: Drive down the highway until the road turns to gravel, take a left where the pop factory used to be, and follow the creek until the trees begin to clear. You’ll smell the woodsmoke before you see the house.

boniverotica:

He made me a cup of tea. ‘Thank you, Earl Grey,’ I said, and kissed him on the nose. He regarded me seriously, and asked, ‘If I’m the Earl, then which tea are you?’ Now I hear Bon Iver plucking guitar strings and murmuring lyrics for a new song. ‘Little honeybush,’ he sings. ‘Honeybush, honeybush tea.’

boniverotica:

He made me a cup of tea. ‘Thank you, Earl Grey,’ I said, and kissed him on the nose. He regarded me seriously, and asked, ‘If I’m the Earl, then which tea are you?’

Now I hear Bon Iver plucking guitar strings and murmuring lyrics for a new song. ‘Little honeybush,’ he sings. ‘Honeybush, honeybush tea.’

boniverotica:

The ice cube in his drink cracks and makes a ringing sound as it hit the sides of his glass. ‘My whiskey is singing,’ Bon Iver ponders, ‘a slow, sad song about rural decay and lonesomeness and the grass that grows between the train tracks.’ He runs his fingers along the inside of my arm, and I can see him in his mind’s eye sitting by the tracks, stroking the grass, longingly.

boniverotica:

The ice cube in his drink cracks and makes a ringing sound as it hit the sides of his glass. ‘My whiskey is singing,’ Bon Iver ponders, ‘a slow, sad song about rural decay and lonesomeness and the grass that grows between the train tracks.’ He runs his fingers along the inside of my arm, and I can see him in his mind’s eye sitting by the tracks, stroking the grass, longingly.

(via filmcrack)

Flower Bandits 

Midnight Yoga medicine for the heart 

Boy & Bear - Milk & Sticks 

Oh I’m hungry for the feeling honey
Cause it’s moving faster than the speed of sound

(Source: youtube.com)

Life is beautiful and living is pain.

Hunter S. Thompson