nocturnalrequiem

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Threads of the Unseen

In crowded streets or open air, Where paths converge beyond our sight, A chance emerges, bold and rare, A quiet shift in morning light.

From distant ripples on the tide, To whispers caught in wind’s embrace, Life changes course, as if to guide Us down an unexpected trace.

Not bound by fate, nor held by plan, But woven softly, thread by thread, These moments breathe where lives began To shape the paths we’ve yet to tread.

--JS

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November night. Brief note to self: time to take myself in hand. To build into myself, to give myself backbone, however much I fail.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

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The Sound of Music (1965) dir. Robert Wise

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"God is Just a Pathetic White Guy"

God is but a face, drawn thin, A mask of power cloaked in sin, A fragile king, his name a shroud, Built to appease the fearful crowd.

In vaulted halls where sermons rise, They shape him with their alibis, Turn peace to stone, let kindness die, And weaponize the holy sky.

In robes they forged with righteous rage, They scrawl his wrath on every page, And bless each blow, each harsh decree, As if hate holds divinity.

They sing of love but silence choice, Distort his truth to drown our voice, Call judgment mercy, faith a cage, And dress their prejudice as sage.

Each word of solace turned askew, By minds that cannot bear what’s new— They shape their God, let hatred bloom, And cast compassion to its tomb.

If ever grace had roots or wings, It would not bind, nor wound with strings. A light beyond this callous guise Would blaze with life, not compromise.

In mythic tales and scripture’s lore, They find a god who asks for war, A brittle god of wrath and fear— Not one to hold our sorrows near.

Yet look beyond their righteous shield, Where mercy waits, where wounds are healed. Not in the church, nor temple’s chain, But in the love that knows no reign.

The true divine, if such can be, Breathes in the space where hearts are free— Not bound to creed or ancient lie, Nor made to please a hateful eye.

So cast off gods who guard and rule, Who twist the wise, confuse the fool. Look deeper still, beyond the lie, Where love survives, though gods may die.

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Amy Winehouse photographed by Hedi Slimane

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need someone to match my freak and my unbearable romanticism

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Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go. 🍁

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sitting in my dark room alone thinking what can i do with all this love inside of me

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“All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.”

-Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

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A few test photos of expired Kodacolor VR 200

Expired 10/1999

Canon AE-1 Program

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"It was all a dream"

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