#old places
Slytherin aesthetics.
Books are magical. ✨
This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.
Mervyn Peake
// On the top of white mountains //
Huts in North Pakistan
vintage aesthetics
Black and White
This tower, patched unevenly with black ivy, arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven. At night the owls made of it an echoing throat; by day it stood voiceless and cast its long shadow.
Mervyn Peake
Natural History Museum, London
Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?
Haruki Murakami
Books and Black Cat
academic aesthetics
// corridors //
// Baylor University //
“It was a cold grey day in late November. The weather had changed overnight, when a backing wind brought a granite sky and a mizzling rain with it, and although it was now only a little after two o'clock in the afternoon the pallor of a winter evening seemed to have closed upon the hills, cloaking them in mist.”
Broken yet breathtaking…
The Library Bar, Auckland, NZ
Books and Piano
Down to the heaven.
Wanna spend my afternoon here.
Spooky Season
A single golden leaf pirouetted down an invisible spiral of breeze, spinning through the air as it let itself be carried down. It shook slightly, as if it could have been whisked away any second by the grip of an icy wind, but it kept floating down the twirling course. It blew past my face and landed lightly on the ground, the shiny, vibrant colour standing out against the ambers and bronzes beneath it. It was so delicate, I wanted to reach down and pick it up and hold it close to my heart, smoothing out any creases, but something told me that it belonged there, this corpse of what was once summer.
I dig rainy days because they make me sad in a way I like, and I read books until I fall asleep holding them.
-Brad Barkley, Jars of Glass