Dreams Underfoot: UnquietDreams' Dark Whimsy

[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little I care,
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere!

It's little I know what's in my heart,
What's in my mind it's little I know,
But there's that in me must up and start,
And it's little I care where my feet go!

I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
And find me at dawn in a desolate place,
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Or the roof of a house, or the eyes of a face.

I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.

But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it's little enough I care,
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Is something the matter, dear," she said,
"That you sit at your work so silently?"
"No, mother, no—'twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettle—I'll make the tea."

--"Departure," Edna St. Vincent Millay (1919)

 

[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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Columbia River Gorge, Oregon/Washington border.

Photography is not my art, but I like how this came out, with sunset painting the hills and the full moon rising.

 

[Nicefella]

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This! Thank you @UnquietDreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

“We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine.”

--Eduardo Galeano, The Book of Embraces

 

[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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I like both the tension and patience in this pose.

 

[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

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[UnquietDreams]

I want to take your hand and dance you happy, spin you until you are as giddy as I.

 

[UnquietDreams]

If I never see you again

I will always carry you

inside

outside

on my fingertips

and at brain edges

and in centers

centers

of what I am of

what remains.
--Charles Bukowski, "Living on Luck"

I adore and abhor Bukowski in turns. He is a brutal, cold, cynical, mean drunk with a pen as a weapon.

And then he will lay this out on my heart like a peony blossom, and he breaks me in loss and in beauty.

 

[UnquietDreams]

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Cementiri de Montjuïc, Barcelona, Spain

I love the contrast of those two images, of grief and salvation.

 

[UnquietDreams]

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Antonio Canova Psyche revived by the kiss of Love. Marble, 1793.

I do not like Valentine's Day on principal, but I wrote a story for Lit's Valentine's Day event last year based on Psyche and Cupid. She was fearless to a fault, and her bravery redeemed a mostly irredeemable god.

 

[UnquietDreams]

I have no ring for your finger
I have no banquet table to lay
I have no bed of feathers
Whatever promises I made
I can't promise you fair sky above
Can't promise you kind road below
But I'll walk beside you, love
Any way the wind blows

--"Promises," Hadestown

 

[dawn_of_night]

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This. exactly.

 

[dawn_of_night]

But I'll walk beside you, love
Any way the wind blows

--"Promises," Hadestown

It's this I want....
And to cherish and adore you....
When the roses are dead and the violets have turned black.
It's this i want to know, will you have my back?
Is the love deep like ocean or just love words written in the sand?
Do we have what it takes for a forever or are we short? Like brownies bake?