detail of the oil on canvas painting, ‘Deadalus and Icarus’, by Johann Carl Loth
“We are our memory,
we are that chimerical museum of shifting shapes,
that pile of broken mirrors”
we are that chimerical museum of shifting shapes,
that pile of broken mirrors”
— Jorge Luis Borges, “Cambridge” 1969
(via xshayarsha)
(via xshayarsha)
Henri Regnault (1843-1871) - Painting and oil-sketches of Automedon Bringing the Horses of Achilles to the Banks of the Scamander.
“I try to swallow myself
whole but I am all wishbone
and splintered edges. Imagine
the gears of a clock worn
away with time. Eroded to
sharp points. Brittle, snap.
At least I tried. Blood runs
down your chin. ‘So did I,’
you say. ‘So did I.’”
whole but I am all wishbone
and splintered edges. Imagine
the gears of a clock worn
away with time. Eroded to
sharp points. Brittle, snap.
At least I tried. Blood runs
down your chin. ‘So did I,’
you say. ‘So did I.’”
— a serenade, part i, Venetta Octavia (via medeae)
