A rose garden after a thunderstorm. Not a manicured, orderly rose garden, but one that has become unruly, with brambles and a quilt of petals upon the ground. An almost forgotten garden. A place that guards its secrets. You can smell the rich, wet earth and the lightning-swept air and an abundance of roses in various stages of bloom. You can sense the intrigue that clings like an unseen mist. An unforgettable marriage of rose and patchouli, with just a hint of plum. Regal, enigmatic and absolutely gorgeous.
BREAKING: September 9th will be officially an entire month since the murder of Ferguson African-American unarmed teenage Michael Brown, at the hands of racist Ferguson PD Officer Darren Wilson. In this entire month, Officer Darren Wilson hasn't been heard from, he has literally disappeared. He still has not been arrested, charged, or indicted in the murder of Michael Brown.
“I’m also a killer. I’ve killed a lot, and if I need to I’ll kill a whole bunch more. If you don’t want to get killed, don’t show up in front of me.”—Actual quote from Ferguson “law enforcement” officer and 35-year police veteran, Dan Page. But hey, let’s keep focusing on all those unreasonable “looters and rioters” (via staininyourbrain)
“You are told a lot about your education, but some beautiful, sacred memory, preserved since childhood, is perhaps the best education of all. If a man carries many such memories into life with him, he is saved for the rest of his days. And even if only one good memory is left in our hearts, it may also be the instrument of our salvation one day.”—Fyodor Dostoyevsky
“toska [tohs-kah]”—noun. A Russian word. Vladmir Nabokov describes it best: ‘No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.’