Relentless erudition (and other pursuits)

Journalist, lover, coffee-drinker, passable photographer, design-freak, writer.
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My dissertation is done. And what a week it’s been. 

I’ve been away from everything that’s been happening anywhere beyond my college walls for so long; the only place I’ve seen a lot of, in this time, has been instagram.

Having time on my hands again is going to be so good.

I only feel close to people who arouse my energy, who make enormous demands of me, who are capable of enriching me with experience, pain, people who do not doubt my courage, or my toughness. People who do not believe me naive or innocent, but who challenge my keenest wisdom, who have the courage to treat me like a woman in spite of the fact that they are aware of my vulnerability.

Dissertation week in instagram pictures: readings, writing and hot beverages.

Be the one who nurtures and builds. Be the one who has an understanding and a forgiving heart. One who looks for the best in people. Leave people better than you found them.
Marvin J. Ashton (via letters-to-nobody)

(via letters-to-nobody)

It’s horrible when your heart is somewhere your body is not.


Today in Instagram pictures:

Whiskey out of a tea-cup. Finishing up with proofreading for class. Moar class. Skype call with Rukmini S (from The Hindu) for investigative journalism class; what a woman!

The week is done and I’m pleased. Now, only if that dissertation would take care of itself.

Evening, today. Coffee, dissertation and pretty flowers.



(via spaceforinspiration)

Yesterday in pictures: him, food, adorableness.

Do not mock a pain that you haven’t endured.
Unknown (via rauchwolken)

(via splitterherzen)

I want to make beautiful things, even if nobody cares.
Saul Bass (via emphatico)

(via withlovefromchennai)

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James Vincent McMorrow,
Early in the morning

I wish I had more pictures of us, of all the places we’d been at, all the streets we’d walked on, things we’d touched. I wish I had more pictures of him, his face, his hands, of us. I wish I had him around more often than I do; I wish he was in the city to see our perfect weather, the sunsets, my hair growing longer than it’s ever been.

Around us, people and things are falling apart and coming back together altered. Twenty-two years into this life, I find new flaws in me every day, still. A little over seven months of us and we’re beginning to notice little crevices in each other already. Not cracks, mind, just natural crevices that might prove to be difficult if we want to fit perfectly into each other.

For the first time, I’m finding out that it’s okay to let the crevices be if we know how to step around them, kiss them and permit understanding to grow out of it; it’s okay to let love seep out of them sometimes and hold us in while we’re apart- and that can’t happen if we’re sealed shut. Someday, these crevices will be our strength; they’ll hold us together, give us colour, save us.

He lets me in and by some miracle, I let him too. If this isn’t remarkable, then I don’t know what is.

You can’t control whether or not you have talent. You can’t control whether or not your work will be recognized or valued. But what you can control is how much work you put your art—both in terms of creating it and in terms of getting it out there—and that is where I try to focus my energy.
Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, interviewed for Some Weird Sin (via world-realities)

(via world-realities)


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(via bellamotte)