no god can save us from ourselves

Have you ever seen the lights
Of a thousand exploding suns?
Kingdoms and cathedrals under the ocean
Because no god can save us from ourselves
No god can save me from myself

So I will remember the earth as it was
And let my dead body floating in space
When my time will come

We can't escape from here
Our time has come
As we see the world collapsing so close from the end
Our time has come

the fear of being hurt

the truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. the one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers the most: and his suffering comes to him from things so little and so trivial that one can say that it is no longer objective at all. it is his own existence, his own being, that is at once the subject and the source of his pain, and his very existence and consciousness is his greatest torture.


The Seven Storey Mountain, Thomas Merton

news about my shop

ok, i finally uploaded something to my society6
and i must say I wasn't expecting for the result to look this good
I think I'm in love with my own tote bag!
you can go check my shop here. more artwork will be available in the meanwhile.

a beautiful reciprocal arrangement

Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them — if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.

J.D. Salinger (via)

one hour alone with Ludovico and his piano

Forget everything.

Open the windows. Clear the room. The wind blows through it. You see only its emptiness, you search in every corner and don't find yourself.

Diaries, 1910-1923, Franz Kafka