North CountryHis fingers felt stripped of their prints by the biting cold; they grasped numbly at his walking stick and slid up it and down with each bullet-hole crunch it took into the frozen topsoil. His feet were worn into two flat thin sheets of sandpaper from walking, frozen wet as the snow melted and permeated his boots until it made no difference whether he was wearing them or not. So blindly, he stumbled over rocks and drifts barefooted and flung them with desperation to be swallowed up by the obscure mouth of the woods in which he could see no more than a yard ahead of him. He had lost the trail a day and a half aNorth Country
TradeMY TITLE WON'T FIT“Any attempt to conciliate an inexplicable momentary state with logic strikes me as a boring kind of game.” ~Tristan TzaraMY TITLE WON'T FIT
I’m in Manuel António at the rim of the Pacific Ocean and I haven’t been back there in a long long time. I left eight days ago but the days right after you leave are longer than the rest. I’m standing on sand and the skies are dark and steely, and there are a thousand horses drowning in the sea. It’s horrible and strange and silent; the air sucks in noise just like water does. The horses are struggling in the water against the waves, their own weight. &nb
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we start dying the day we're born. life is short so carpe diem...
[funny how 'nothing is perfect' sounds optimistic while 'everything is flawed' sounds pessimistic, for in truth they are the same thing]<-(c) me
amazing animat0rs:
:iconkite-ride
Keep up the good work.
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