Charm.

Charm.

Refinery29 launched new brand identity

wolffolinsblog:

Refinery29 was founded in 2005 with the idea of providing a highly curated, edited take on all things cool in New York City. Fast-forward 8 years later… Refinery29 has grown from local to global, from 4 to 120 (and counting), from start-up to one of the most visited lifestyle sites…

We’re getting real.

We’re getting real.

(Source: smithsonianlibraries)

(Source: mattdraper)

Have You Prayed?

by Li-Young Lee

When the wind
turns and asks, in my father’s voice,
Have you prayed?
I know three things. One:
I’m never finished answering to the dead.

Two: A man is four winds and three fires.
And the four winds are his father’s voice,
his mother’s voice …
Or maybe he’s seven winds and ten fires.
And the fires are seeing, hearing, touching,
dreaming, thinking …
Or is he the breath of God?

When the wind turns traveler
and asks, in my father’s voice, Have you prayed?
I remember three things.
One: A father’s love
is milk and sugar,
two-thirds worry, two-thirds grief, and what’s left over

is trimmed and leavened to make the bread
the dead and the living share.
And patience? That’s to endure
the terrible leavening and kneading.

And wisdom? That’s my father’s face in sleep.
When the wind
asks, Have you prayed?
I know it’s only me

reminding myself
a flower is one station between
earth’s wish and earth’s rapture, and blood
was fire, salt, and breath long before
it quickened any wand or branch, any limb
that woke speaking. It’s just me

in the gowns of the wind,
or my father through me, asking,
Have you found your refuge yet?
asking, Are you happy?
Strange. A troubled father. A happy son.
The wind with a voice. And me talking to no one.
Always honor the occasion. 

Always honor the occasion. 

Alma and Gustav Mahler

Alma and Gustav Mahler

(Source: almamahler, via fuckyeahgustavmahler)

(Source: pinterest.com, via theniftyfifties)

(Source: imgfave, via tortolita)

"New York has swallowed me up like a carnivorous plant swallowing a fly, I have been living a breathless life for fifty days now, here life consists of a series of appointments made a week or a fortnight in advance: lunch, cocktail party, dinner, evening party, these make up the various stages of the day which allow you constantly to meet new people, to make arrangements for other lunches, other dinners, other parties and so on ad infinitum. [New York City] is not the land of the unforeseen, but it is the land of the richness of life, of the fullness of every hour in the day…"

Italo Calvino, and other famous writers, on New York – private reflections from diaries and letters. (via explore-blog)

(Source: , via explore-blog)

(via clubspade)

Anaïs Nin on New York

I’m in love with N.Y. It matches my mood. I’m not overwhelmed. It is the suitable scene for my ever ever heightened life. I love the proportions, the amplitude, the brilliance, the polish, the solidity. I look up at Radio City insolently and love it. It is all great, and Babylonian. Broadway at night. Cellophane. The newness. The vitality. True, it is only physical. But it’s inspiring. Just bring your own contents, and you create a sparkle of the highest power. I’m not moved, not speechless. I stand straight, tough, and I meet the impact. I feel the glow and the dancing in everything. The radio music in the taxis, scientific magic, which can all be used lyrically. That’s my last word. Give New York to a poet. He can use it. It can be poetized. Or maybe that’s a mania of mine, to poetize. I live lightly, smoothly, actively, ears and eyes wide open, alert, oiled! I feel a kind of exhilaration and the tempo is like that of my blood. I’m at once beyond, over and in New York, tasting it fully.

Give New York to a Poet. 

(Source: mattdraper)

osakalives:

Poet, 2013
End transmission.

osakalives:

Poet, 2013

End transmission.

osakalives:

End transmission.

osakalives:

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