Nocturne in Black and Gold: The Falling Rocket, James Whistler
There are only varying levels of fucked up.
On a grand continuum that spans absolutely nothing and everything.
You see a man who looks like he has his shit together? He doesn’t.
He’s only fractionally less troubled than everybody else.
The kicker is that no one knows it.
And no one dares to admit that there’s no such state of being
because they want to hold on to the hope that some day they will
have two point five kids, a thirty year mortgage on a semi-adequate house and
a car on a five year lease.
The point is not to get your shit together.
The point is to let it fall apart and know that you alone can make sure the pieces land
right. where. you. want. them.
at Communications Building
The Balcony by Gustave Caillebotte
Keep it together, then make it collapse.
“It feels good to think about you when I’m warm in bed. I feel as if you’re curled up there beside me, fast asleep. And I think how great it would be if it were true.”
– Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood (via weepling)