Works of art are of infinite loneliness and nothing can reach them so little as criticism.
Letters To A Young Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke
Era perfeitamente natural [...] que te lembrasses dele na hora das nostalgias, quando nos deixamos corromper por essas ausências a que chamamos memórias e é necessário remendar com palavras e com imagens tanto vazio insaciável.
Final do Jogo, Julio Cortázar
Final do Jogo, Julio Cortázar
working on a new drawing for my Society6. that damn shop looks so sad and lonely, i need to do something about it.
Everything we touch
burns away, whether we give ourselves
or not, the same April day spreads to thinness,
the same winter afternoon
thickens to dark. I was thirty-eight years old.
Every time a door opened
I expected you. For months I hid your clothes
stiff with blood.
Skin Divers, Anne Michaels
burns away, whether we give ourselves
or not, the same April day spreads to thinness,
the same winter afternoon
thickens to dark. I was thirty-eight years old.
Every time a door opened
I expected you. For months I hid your clothes
stiff with blood.
Skin Divers, Anne Michaels
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