Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to Middle-Earth.

theparalleluniverses:

corinemichel:

Detlef Schrempf by Band of Horses

And take a little walk when the worst is to come
When I saw you looking like I never thought
And say you’re at a loss or forgot that words can do more than harm

The town is gonna talk, but these people do not
See things through to the very minimal
But what’s it gonna cost to be gone?
If we see you like I hoped we never would

When eyes can’t look at you any other way,
Any other way, any other way
When eyes can’t look at you any other way,
Any other way, any other way

So take it as a song or a lesson to learn
And sometime soon be better than you were
If you say you’re gonna go, then be careful
And watch how you treat every living soul

My eyes can’t look at you any other way,
Any other way, any other way
When eyes can’t look at you any other way,
Any other way, any other way

This song is amazing… I just love it so much. Thought you might wanna check it out, I mean if you didn’t just yet

Such a beautiful song, and one of my favourite bands.

(Source: brooklynjuicer)

siddals:

PRESSING FLOWERS THE CIVIL WARS

You and I, well, we’re just pressing flowers
They die but they’re ours
Meet me in a poem of an iron bed
Wipe the dust away