melancholia*

i. august is silver-flaming madness, a warm drowning like a kiss. i’m entrapped in visions of us dark & flustering midnight, watching the blue butterflies pressing their wings into our windows, shaping the soundlessness. your hand, an unkempt puzzle against mine, how we fit into the chaos like star-stencils. 

ii. will you miss me when i’m ash? the moon reflects your mouth / reflects dead rainbows / reflects death. you breathe like a blow torch, every word an arrowhead maimed to deflect. we are devouring these cesspools of suffering, hellfire capering on our tongues, your name a furious heat like coals jammed in teeth. some songs only hurt when its storming out / some girls blame the burns on their mommas / whisper that this violet-scarred melancholia is gestational. 

iii. if you mumble solitude enough times it starts to sound like a stranger. a stranger that left you and never told you why. so its that bleeding time of day again / so dawn gurgles the sky / so i’m coughing up my heart rinds out on the kitchen table and you’re unfurling to fly. a starling brightening seawards, cascading in waves, ajar like the window and inevitable as morning come.

iv. rundown dreams / a flower pot tossed across the room, doused in gasoline like our love like you / something waiting in the flames / glittering oblivion across careening asphalt / smoke-danger / scream-rain / your lifeline a seraphim shadowing mine / i need to be awoken, from this unearthly slumber / told thrice, that self-immolation is a means to the worst kind of end / that winter harbors no resentment against the half-eaten forest / that pain is a natural occurrence / a side-effect of being alive, of color in the cheeks & pink pliable toils. 

v. glitter-cake my soul. cripple my wrath. i want to be endless, which is to say, i want to be a god. but we are mere flitter-bugs, measuring our lives in ripened fruits & whitening hair. something tells me you make the most of it. these evenings slip by you, grim-faced and lightless. you are ireland skies on rudimentary days, your raven wings stretching beyond me like december fog. sometimes i think, you live like you’ve never loved, tell me, how do you do that?

GRAZING THE MOUTHLESS SKY | STRAWBERRY SONGS | j.r

cosmicfish14  asked:

What are some movies you would recommend that have great cinematography?

The Grand Budapest Hotel (obviously… fucking wes anderson)

The Cell (2000) (the plot may be messy but the movie is so gorgeous)

Mommy and Laurence Anyways (fuck me up)

The Fall 

The Revenant

2046, Happy Together, The Grandmaster (literally any Wong Kar Wai movie)

Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter 

Melancholia

Under the Skin

Kokuhaku (2010) 

Sympathy for Lady Vengeance  (literally any CWP movie)

Looper

Only God Forgives (heh)

Blue Valentine

8

The dysfunctional family has been an ever-present image in popular culture for decades: the battling husband and wife flanked by their bratty children are perhaps most frequently employed on garishly trite television sitcoms. In the movies, the gloves are ripped away and the reality shines on what is more often than not left unexposed in the darkness. What’s revealed seems to irrefutably prove that Tolstoy was absolutely correct when he wrote: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

The most dysfunctional families in cinema.

“Summertime Nostalgia”

It’s not that transparency
Of her earlier incarnations
Now looked back on, weren’t rich
And loaded with beautiful vulnerability
And now she knows
Now is greater
And she knows that
She just wants to be somewhere
She just wants to be
(R.E.M., She Just Wants To Be)

Model: Lena
August 2016
© Florian Schmidt

Thanks a lot for the recent reblogs, especially to @cbjreblogging and @quaque-nocte-spero

It seems to me that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension, which we feel as paralysis because we no longer hear our astonished emotions living. Because we are alone with the unfamiliar presence that has entered us; because everything we trust and are used to is for a moment taken away from us; because we stand in the midst of a transition where we cannot remain standing. That is why the sadness passes: the new presence inside us, the presence that has been added, has entered our heart, has gone into its innermost chamber and is no longer even there, - is already in our bloodstream. And we don’t know what it was. We could easily be made to believe that nothing happened, and yet we have changed, as a house that a guest has entered changes. We can’t say who has come, perhaps we will never know, but many signs indicate that the future enters us in this way in order to be transformed in us, long before it happens. And that is why it is so important to be solitary and attentive when one is sad: because the seemingly uneventful and motionless moment when our future steps into us is so much closer to life than that other loud and accidental point of time when it happens to us as if from outside. The quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us, and the more we can make it our own, the more it becomes our fate.
—  Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet