i
can't

up the mountain into the snow, walking slow through the most heartfillingly beautiful lands. rocky peaks of snow, dead burnt trees standing up like black ink lines on the hill across the valley, and everything seemed to be glowingfromtheinside, a pale golden light in smoke smelling air.

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dream of two nights ago ( Read more... )

“Wild, dark times are rumbling toward us, and the prophet who
wishes to write a new apocalypse will have to invent entirely new
beasts, and beasts so terrible that the ancient animal symbols of
St. John will seem like cooing doves and cupids in comparison.”
- Heinrich Heine, Lutetia; or, Paris (1842)

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i miss you

what am i doing