4. Favorite Christmas Music: Judy Garland singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” from Meet Me in St. Louis. I can’t say anything this song doesn’t.
3. Favorite Christmas Music: Trans-Siberian Orchestra plays “Christmas in Sarajevo.” This arrangement comes at “peace on earth” in a different way, by putting an ideal of peace and the horrible reality of war side by side, shredding dreams, but retaining hope. Who says Christmas music can’t make a powerful statement?
Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them.—Oscar Wilde
Mothman Visits the Neighbors
“Mrs. Bennett drove to the Thomas house a few minutes later and got out of the car with her baby. Suddenly, a figure stirred near the automobile. “It seemed as though it had been lying down,” she later recalled. “It rose up slowly from the ground. A big gray thing. Bigger than a man with terrible glowing eyes.”
Mrs. Bennett was so horrified that she dropped her little girl! She quickly recovered, picked up her child and ran to the house. The family locked everyone inside but hysteria gripped them as the creature shuffled onto the porch and peered into the windows. The police were summoned, but the Mothman had vanished by the time the authorities had arrived.”—From Mothman: The Enigma of Point Pleasant
“With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two.”
- Robert Louis Stevenson, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Chapter 10
Queen Anne’s Lace
Her body is not so white as
anemone petals nor so smooth—nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
thefield by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand’s span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over—
or nothing.—William Carlos Williams
A Story Without Words
“What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world remains and is immortal.” -Albert Pine.
(Source: light-)
(Source: stayy-golddd, via alltheselittleghosts)
Lust, love, heartbreak, Rudolph Valentino.
Once upon a time… II (by Dara Scully)
Violinist Jascha Heifetz playing in Mili’s darkened studio as light attached to his bow traces the bow movement.









