dasimajorim:

with photo.

dasimajorim:

with photo.

(Source: 21paris)

Anthony Mackie photographed by Nicholas Maggio for Rhapsody (April 2014)

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"Chris and I have been in a lot of dark places together, and the thing I love about Chris, we met over some ‘apple juice’ and it was like one of those experiences where there’s a dude you meet and you’re like ‘Man, you’re a cool dude.’ Then a whole bottle of ‘apple juice’ later you’re like ‘Man, we’re friends.’ Just a dark, dark place."- Anthony Mackie.

(Source: ariahastings)

The Litany

This is a litany of lost things,
a canon of possessions dispossessed,
a photograph, an old address, a key.
It is a list of words to memorize
or to forget— of amo, amas, amat,
the conjugations of a dead tongue
in which the final sentence has been spoken.

This is the liturgy of rain,
falling on mountain, field, and ocean—
indifferent, anonymous, complete—
of water infinitesimally slow,
sifting through rock, pooling in darkness,
gathering in springs, then rising without our agency,
only to dissolve in mist or cloud or dew.

This is a prayer to unbelief,
to candles guttering and darkness undivided,
to incense drifting into emptiness.
It is the smile of a stone Madonna
and the silent fury of the consecrated wine,
a benediction on the death of a young god,
brave and beautiful, rotting on a tree.

This is a litany to earth and ashes,
to the dust of roads and vacant rooms,
to the fine silt circling in a shaft of sun,
settling indifferently on books and beds.
This is a prayer to praise what we become,
“Dust thou art, to dust thou shalt return.”
Savor its taste—the bitterness of earth and ashes.

This is a prayer, inchoate and unfinished,
for you, my love, my loss, my lesion,
a rosary of words to count out time’s
illusions, all the minutes, hours, days
the calendar compounds as if the past
existed somewhere—like an inheritance
still waiting to be claimed.

Until at last it is our litany, mon vieux,
my reader, my voyeur, as if the mist

steaming from the gorge, this pure paradox,
the shattered river rising as it falls—
splintering the light, swirling it skyward,
neither transparent nor opaque but luminous,
even as it vanishes—were not our life.

by Dana Gioia

philcoulson:

The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies.

Zoe Saldana for L'Oreal (x)
"Being a former dancer, classical dancer, it informed me as a human being just in terms of the grace I guess. Ballet is a very graceful form of art. You also become very aware of your body, and your mind and your body is working in conjunction. That kind of helps you in acting as well."

(Source: lucystillintheskywithdiamonds)

Fangirl Challenge - [8/15] Pairings

↳ Ichabod x Abbie (Sleepy Hollow)

- “I do know that I was standing over him thinking about justice. That’s not what doctors do.”
- “Sounds like more of a consulting detective”

(Source: museandme)

Just another Brooklyn boy, dealt with some cards he never expected he’d get.

(Source: astrasperas)

vintagegal:

NYC color photography of Ruth Orkin c. 1950s (via)

Bucky looking at Steve

(Source: winterbrnes)