(Source: elizestrydom.wordpress.com, via folkabout)

oldtimefriend:

Lisa Moir

oldtimefriend:

Lisa Moir

(Source: thesoutherly)

pampong:

Wall-o-Weavings by Natty Malik on Flickr.

pampong:

Wall-o-Weavings by Natty Malik on Flickr.

(Source: bien, via browndresswithwhitedots)

backpackersguidetoearth:

Alberta, Canada
My favourite camping spot, all lit up with lights at dusk.

backpackersguidetoearth:

Alberta, Canada

My favourite camping spot, all lit up with lights at dusk.

(via charislogia)

(via heeavyboots)

Haley Bonar/A. Mojgani – Eat For Free/a young recording circa New Orleans 2003 (1,593 plays)

thepianofarm:

At the feast inside my heart, there are many who may eat for free. Myself included. It was probably New Orleans 2003. In either what we call the Yellow Room or what we call the Ocean Room. I was back home after seven years in Savannah Georgia. My mother was living in China. My sister had just moved to Hawaii. My brother started his first year at Carleton. It was just me and Pops. I felt that in the time my mother lived in a different country, he went to a lot of movies to fill his time alone. He was so happy to have me around. We would eat out, have cheeseburgers. I didn’t know what I was doing with my life. I was so lonely. My heart was so full and so heavy. I missed Savannah and the people it had given me for all those years. Goddamn I missed that city. I would leave the house some nights around 11pm and drive around for hours. Downtown. Through the Quarter, past Esplanade into the Marigny. Listening to music. A lot of Nada Surf. I would sit at the Rue De La Course coffeeshop on Oak Street plotting and sketching a graphic novel about airplanes and a girl I loved and leaving a city that loved me and about going to movies by myself and about making a comic book about all these things that would never appear. I got a job at the Rue since I was there all the time and cute girls worked behind the counter. Lauren hired me. I cut sandwiches, made lattes, and smelled like coffee grounds. When I worked in the evening, I’d get off and sometimes go get a burger from Camellia Grill before they closed. I’ve been eating there since I was five years old. None of the same people work there but they all treat you like they have and they remember you. I made friends with my coworkers. Talked indie rock with Jack. Talked hometown with Lauren. Talked art with Ed and Doug McQueen. Talked shit with Tim “Cougar” Perkins. Joined him at Brother’s on Magazine after our shift. Watch the old cowboys sitting at the bar. Joke over the jukebox. I wanted to kiss Ann. And Leila. And Evelyn. And others. I never did. But I might have could have. And while sometimes that feels worse, sometimes that feels better. And years later laying in Ann’s bed watching the sun come up in Chicago, I felt thankful. Ann and I rode bicycles through the Bywater. She stopped for a raspberry beer. I became friends with Rebecca and in the springtime of New Orleans fell in love. She taught me scales on the piano and told me about the giant clock in Prague. Tim made a closing mix of Joe Esposito. Lauren wore boas. Leila played saxophone. Dena and Doug battle for my favorite smile. Doug, Ed, and I sat outside the Race Street cafe in the warm darkness planning an art show. It was at the SPACE Gallery, upstairs on Magazine. I put paintings in it with them. People filled the space we made together. I did poems. I didn’t want to. I felt little. But a woman with a broken leg said she had come out just to hear them. My heart can be smoothed when in the palms of people. Some nights after work, after Brother’s or the Buddha Bar or Camellia Grill, after the flowers of the faces, I’d come home and watch Nova until just before dawn. It was probably actually only a couple times. I had started fucking around with a guitar the summer before leaving Savannah. When Allyson and Kristie beautifully let me mend on their couch for my last two months there, I would practice my stupid little songs, scared of my ugly voice but wanting to hear it get better. After moving back home I had gotten a mini Tascam 4 track recorder. And when Pops went to visit Mom in China, I would stay up all night, bending my guitar through the microphone, beating a rhythm out on the Kentwood water bottle, recording the echoes I would sing into it, learning how to make songs without the knowledge to do so, learning how to howl my inside in only the way that I know how. Making music on the floor of my parents’ house I felt a little broken but also a little bit bigger, like I was standing my voice up before me, seeing what shape it had, unsure of when the light would rise but knowing it was on its way.

music from Haley Bonar, with me circa 2003 at the end.

(via someguycalledras-deactivated201)

(Source: desireforart, via paper-trees)

danielblumberg said: Love your blog; I will miss your blogging :( Have an amazing 18 months, God bless you!

I will miss Tumblin’ but I am very excited about this adventure. Thank you so much!

leadfilltheholeinme said: what?! Does that mean you're no longer be rebloging these amazing photos! *killing myself*

Yes, unfortunately! I am going on a church mission for 18 months without Tumblr!

Antelope Island. (Taken with Instagram)

Antelope Island. (Taken with Instagram)

My last day as a regular human bean. No more tumblin’ for 18 months!

People Help the People - Birdy

(Source: captaindumbmerica / OfficialBirdy, via charislogia)

(Source: theworstemily, via comingtocadmium)