The distant hills appear with their smooth reptilian undulations.
The infinitely crystalline transparencies reveal themselves in dim splendor. The shadows hold night in their tangles, and the city begins to shed its idle veils, rendering visible its cupolas and its ancient towers illuminated by a soft golden light.
The houses reveal faces with empty eyes among the verdure, and the grasses, poppies and vines dance entertainingly to the sound of the breeze from the sun.
The shadows are lifting and vanishing languidly, while in the air there is a piping of ocarinas and reed-flutes produced by the birds.
In the distance there are confusions of mist and heliotrope among the poplar groves, and now and then, in the dawn freshness, is heard a distant bleating in the key of F.
Cairo, 15 January 1850
[…] Here we are then, in Egypt, the land of the Pharoahs, the land of the Ptolemies, the kingdom of Cleopatra (as they say in the grand style). Here we are, and here we abide, with our heads shaven as clean as your knee, smoking long pipes and drinking our coffee lying on divans. What can I say? How can I write to you about it? I have scarcely recovered from my initial astonishment.
“I am not a photographer,” says the Italy-based Ornella Mignella, known on Instagram as @miss_golightly_the_cat and otherwise very reticent about herself. “Photography is my therapist. It helps me to accept myself and what happens to me. Acceptance is not resignation but a form of consciousness raising, an instantaneous clarity of thought captured in a picture. I use my iPhone 5 and some apps to edit my photos.”
Peter never came back
I play the role of Wendy, who waits for Peter Pan until her death. She lies on the floor, we don’t know if she tries to fly to reach Peter or dies of missing him. Her death is every existential failure, it is my generation’s failure, our broken dreams. Peter is everything we can’t reach, something we lost forever.
We only know that he flew away with Tinker Bell. Wendy flew away too.
@theavni in California
Hipstamatic makes no sense.
In the idle grip of suspended motion—
endless traffic in stasis,
prosthetic limbs scratching against car doors—
what’s the use of predefined filters pretending to be the aesthetic technology of not much earlier times?
You want to play with the beasts.
Soul splashed on the asphalt, to dream your own dreams,
imagination feeding like ruminants.
If not being allowed to have strong opinions is not
#censorship I’m not sure what is