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travelingcolors:

Fowey, Cornwall | England (by Paul Scott Thomas)

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

Pablo Neruda (via man-of-prose)

I’ve always enjoyed this poem. It’s the only one that made me think, “shit.” when I read it for the first time.

writingsforwinter:

"Her and Lost In Translation are connected to each other. They’re very much on the same wavelength. They explore a lot of the same ideas. This all makes sense since Spike Jonze and Sofia Coppola were married from 1999 to 2003 and had been together for many years before that. Sofia Coppola had already made her big personal statement in regards to love and marriage right when the couple was on the verge of divorce; Her would be Spike Jonze’s answer to those feelings. What makes it even more poignant is that Her never feels resentful or petty. It feels more like a legitimate apology. It’s an acknowledgement that, in the end, some people aren’t meant to be with each other in the long run. Some people do grow apart. Lost in Translation is about a couple on the verge of growing apart, Her is about finally letting go of the person you’ve grown apart with and moving on.”

Time Slice Series

Photographer Dan Marker-Moore’s latest project is a series of collages in which a single image is made up of slices of photos taken in a time lapse.

stories-yet-to-be-written:

Trains by Steve McCurry

Ever since the British built the railroads in India that stitch that vast subcontinent together, trains have been the organizing force that unify all of its disparate parts. As I tried to tell the story of the community that inhabits the depots, I would go to the train station every day and wander around the platform. Each time a train would roll in, while carefully stepping over bodies and around huge mountains of luggage, I would start to photograph the swirl of life that assaults and saturates the senses.

I was accepted to NYU and I feel like a steaming pile of shit.

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c1tylight5:

Windows on the WorldPhillip Kalantzis Cope

it’s almost been a year since I last visited New York City. 

archatlas:

Cityscapes Jeremy Mann

aausten