Mornings. My bête noire. No ‘shining morning face’ here, just the leaden thud of tiredness that settles in the bones and begrimes my eyes. I will never learn to love the shrill of the alarm, or the chirpy early risers who seem all glossy eyes and prattling conversation.
About
Avid admirer of the beautiful, the absurd, and the strange.
Stuff I like
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Terry Friedman and Andy Goldsworthy - Hand to Earth: Andy Goldsworthy Sculpture,...
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Nicole Krauss, The History of Love
I want to...
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On fun-sized advice
How can I let go of the belief that beauty matters?
Beauty... -
Lily Pads (by planet_hugger)