trees are so cool  

my entire life is here

old thoughts.

i like to think that each of our actions, somehow, somewhere, has been written way before we were born, in a big book of words, meetings, sorrows, mistakes, for which every choice we take is always the right one. perhaps one day these series of patterns will lead us to an epiphany, an enlightenment that will teach us what happiness is, for which we’ll be able to say: ‘that’s it. that’s what i’ve been running for’. perhaps it’s just not the right time yet. i don’t know what kind of god mine is, i don’t know if i’m allowed to just call it the major order of the universe. perhaps one day we’ll realise it’s just an invisible thread that led us from place to place. perhaps we are not authors nor writers of our actions at all. but if we’re not aware of this process, is it really something we have to be afraid of?
perhaps it’s just not the right time yet.
and then i wonder why i can’t fall asleep at night.


Keaton Henson
just a phone-camera photo of one of my favorite places in Glasgow. 

Where are Jane Austen, Borges, and Heidegger now? The first in a week-long series of illustrations by Jason Novak, captioned by Eric Jarosinski.

Grief by Iviva Olenick