Photograph by David Douglas DuncanBalloon Vender in Prismatics1973

    Photograph by David Douglas Duncan
    Balloon Vender in Prismatics

    Reblogged from: cyberqueer
  2. Reblogged from: -infuckti0n

    Reblogged from: weeping-who-girl
  4. 814stops:


    Reblogged from: irreluvant
  5. Reblogged from: irreluvant
  6. When searching for the lost remember 8 things.

    We are vessels.
    We are rooms.
    We are so much less important than the things inside of us.
    We are circuit boards
    swallowing the electricity of life upon birth.
    It wheels through us creating every moment,
    the pulse of a story, the soft hums of labor and love.
    In our last moment it will come rushing
    from our chests and be given back to the wind.
    When we die. We go everywhere.

    Newton said energy is neither created nor destroyed.
    In the halls of my middle school I can still hear
    my friend Stephen singing his favorite song.
    In the gymnasium I can still hear
    the way he dribbled that basketball like it was a mallet
    and the earth was a xylophone.
    With an ear to the Atlantic I can hear
    the Titanic’s band playing her to sleep,
    Music. Wind. Music. Wind.
    If you listen to the wind and don’t hear a thousand years of music, you’re not listening hard enough.

    The day my grandfather passed away there was the strongest wind,
    I could feel his gentle hands blowing away from me.
    I knew then they were off to find someone
    who needed them more than I did.
    On average 1.8 people on earth die every second.
    There is always a gust of wind somewhere.

    The day Stephen was murdered
    everything that made us love him rushed from his knife wounds
    as though his chest were an auditorium
    his life an audience leaving single file.
    Every ounce of him has been
    wrapping around this world in a windstorm
    I have been looking for him for 9 years.

    Our bodies are nothing more than hosts to a collection of brilliant things.
    When someone dies I do not weep over polaroids or belongings,
    I begin to look for the lightning that has left them,
    I feel out the strongest breeze and take off running.

    After 9 years I found Stephen.
    I passed a basketball court in Boston
    the point guard dribbled like he had a stadium roaring in his palms
    Wilt Chamberlain pumping in his feet,
    his hands flashing like x-rays,
    a cross-over, a wrap-around
    rewinding, turn-tables cracking open,
    camera-men turn flash bulbs to fireworks.
    Seven games and he never missed a shot,
    his hands were luminous.
    Pulsing. Pulsing.
    I asked him how long he’d been playing,
    he said nine 9 years

    The theory of six degrees of separation 

    was never meant to show how many people we can find,
    it was a set of directions for how to find the people we have lost.

    I found your voice Stephen,
    found it in a young boy in Michigan who was always singing,
    his lungs flapping like sails
    I found your smile in Australia,
    a young girls teeth shining like the opera house in your neck,
    I saw your one true love come to life on the asphalt of Boston.

    We are not created or destroyed,
    we are constantly transferred, shifted and renewed.
    Everything we are is given to us.
    Death does not come when a body is too exhausted to live
    Death comes, because the brilliance inside us can only be contained for so long.
    We do not die. We pass on, pass on the lightning burning through our throats.
    when you leave me I will not cry for you
    I will run into the strongest wind I can find
    and welcome you home.

    "Pass On" by Michael Lee (via theskyoutsidethecity)
    Reblogged from: inmymem0ries
  7. enemy0fthew0rld:

    I am so glad someone finally made this

    Reblogged from: fcukingchoke
  8. Fear makes companions of us all.”

    Reblogged from: gallifraye
  9. 9 photos of Andrew Garfield looking completely in love with Emma Stone

    Reblogged from: sharpiesandguitars
  10. I’m yours, and I’m not yours.

    Reblogged from: sharpiesandguitars
  11. Reblogged from: orionfalls
  12. delta-breezes:

Ben Blood Photography
    Reblogged from: cupcakesweeties
  13. Reblogged from: 10knotes
  14. I don’t think that I’m a hugging person now.
    I’m not sure you get a vote.


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