Bufflehead Cabin

How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

— Emily Dickinson


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Stuff I Shudda Posted

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As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I dó is me: for that I came.

Gerard Manley Hopkins (28 July 1844 – 8 June 1889)


(via jamreilly)

It’s all going to end soon!

Plan B ???

William Blake from Jerusalem

The spectre here is apparently Albion’s, which Jerusalem sees in a vision.

Red Franz

Die, my dear? Why that’s the last thing I’ll do!

Groucho Marx (via vintageanchorbooks)

(via ringtales)


Gary Atkinson - Wanderin’ Soul

Forever inspired by the Country Funk compilations by Light in The Attic and I’ve been working on compiling my own mix of country funk songs for your listening pleasure.

For now, here’s some very rare country funk from ‘75. This song is a real holy grail:

Oh Satan, I hear you calling, calling to my soul, but I’m just not ready to go, you’ll never get my wanderin’ soul.

The Seventh Seal (Swedish: Det sjunde inseglet) (1957) written and directed by Ingmar Bergman

Death twitches my ear;
‘Live,’ he says…
‘I’m coming.’

Virgil  (via rhaegartargaryen)

(via christinasanantonio)

Eternity is not a long time; rather, it is another dimension. It is that dimension to which time-thinking shuts us. And so there never was a creation. Rather, there is a continuous creating going on. This energy is pouring into every cell of our being right now, every board and brick of the buildings we sit in, every grain of sand and wisp of wind.

Joseph Campbell, Myths of Light (via somossopa)


The best writing about mortality and living with death


Giovanni Cioli

(via elemenop)

And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
The the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

Sylvia Plath (via lightatdusk)

(via christinasanantonio)


[Let’s post some ephemera about death.]

(via elemenop)

When openly gay police chief Crystal Moore was fired by a mayor who condemned her lifestyle as “questionable,” she feared her two decade career in law enforcement in this town was over. Then, this conservative, small town rebelled.

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