. . . His talent was as natural as the pattern that was made by the dust on a butterfly’s wings. At one time he understood it no more than the butterfly did and he did not know when it was brushed or marred. Later he became conscious of his damaged wings and of their construction and he learned to think and could not fly any more because the love of flight was gone and he could only remember when it had been effortless.

. . . He saw God’s foot upon the treadle of the loom, and spoke it; and therefore his shipmates called him mad. So man’s insanity is heaven’s sense; and wandering from all mortal reason, man comes at last to that celestial thought, which, to reason, is absurd and frantic; and weal or woe, feels then uncompromised, indifferent as his God.

moby-dick

hey i’m lookin at you lookin at me

i am apparently forbidden from including pictures of callan’s costume (per callan’s request) but trust me . . . it was hot LOL

after which, we watched movies in nora’s room in bed-stuy. thanks nora!

michael whelan, ‘trantorian dream’

this is what my dreams look like (lol)

i’ve told every little star!!!

bilbo and bodega stranger