Retro Conceptual Collages by Adrian Velazco
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I’ll be a’hittin the road in a mere seven days, maybe eight. rather just sleep in his bed this next week, rather take him with me. august in virginny, apples on the trees and warm ocean water. i’ll see the mountains of north carolina, too. i’m a’comin back to maine though
you, you, you
the way you trace the tops of your fingers on all the parts of my skin that want it
can’t ever read your mind, but sometimes i get tired of already knowing what people think
i really like holding your hand, with my hands
"Wild honey smells of freedom
The dust - of sunlight
The mouth of a young girl, like a violet
But gold - smells of nothing."
- Anna Akhmatova (via fernsandmoss)
there’s no beauty here. i stare at my own eyes too long lately and am surprised whenever yours are more green than usual. i want to leave, but not really. i’m so bitter and harsh but all i really want is to be sweet and soft to you. it hurt to hear that you don’t even know me, but it’s true and i don’t know you and i don’t have much patience either. i put myself through too much and always look down the other path anyway… this wind is comin off the ocean and i wonder where you are and i want to tell you, i’m sorry i don’t want to bother you, but i want to be with you. i never can tell what you think of me
A cool wind blows on summer evenings, stirring the wheat.
The wheat bends, the leaves of the peach trees
rustle in the night ahead.
In the dark, a boy’s crossing the field:
for the first time, he’s touched a girl
so he walks home a man, with a man’s hungers.
Slowly the fruit ripens—
baskets and baskets from a single tree
so some rots every year
and for a few weeks there’s too much:
before and after, nothing.
Between the rows of wheat
you can see the mice, flashing and scurrying
across the earth, though the wheat towers above them,
churning as the summer wind blows.
The moon is full. A strange sound
comes from the field—maybe the wind.
But for the mice it’s a night like any summer night.
Fruit and grain: a time of abundance.
Nobody dies, nobody goes hungry.
No sound except the roar of the wheat.
—Louise Glück, “Abundance”
Art Credit Adrià Cañameras
"Instead of thinking about how to get love, begin to offer it. If you give, you receive. There is no other way."
- Osho (via purplebuddhaproject)