Tell me the names of cities (outside the US) with international airports. Any city, not matter how big or small. Whatever city comes to your mind, like it or not.
If you can provide the international airport code, I would be thankful.
I’m planning a trip with my friend Mike, and we really don’t know where to go, so, remember the game with the terrestrial globe? Well, just like that, but with people from Tumblr.
Bless.
…And now I realise I fucked something up in a certain sense.
I guess I should have stayed quiet, talking to people via IM.
I had the blues, now I’m worse.
…Probably the most academic stuff I’ve written in my entire life (without counting university papers and lab reports). I was deeply fascinated by the views of Erich Fromm, and surprised that someone had the same things in mind concerning the subject so many decades before I was born.
For practical purposes, I’m a “reformist” objectivist, and to me, love is more than simple attraction. Love is about knowing there’s something you can learn every day from that someone, knowing that you can be a better person every day, and make that someone a better person. Love is not about possession, or a sense of belonging. Love isn’t about needing someone. Love is about knowing you don’t need anybody, but you just like and enjoy to share everything with someone.
Love isn’t about physical attraction. Those are evolutionary traits. Love is a deeper form of empathy.
The fact is that I don’t really know what the hell love is, and that’s why I’m open. To love an old friend, to love a complete stranger, to love someone I know and to love someone I don’t know anything about.
But before loving anyone else, be sure to love yourself first. Love yourself deeply to know you’re the only thing you need.
Let’s finish with a quote from Erich Fromm’s The Art of Loving:
“Immature love says: “I love you because I need you.” Mature love says: “I need you because I love you.” “
I’ll keep on writing.
(Source: sundayesque)
Yesterday evening I found Ramón Del Valle-Inclán’s “Sonata de Primavera” (Spring Sonata) in my bathroom closet. Finished it in nearly 40 minutes, and became fascinated with the ingenuity and formality of Del Valle-Inclán’s writing. I’m planning to read more Spanish literature (especially the works of La Generación del ‘98, Generation of ‘98).
This is my first voyage through Spanish works from the Spanish-American war era. Wish me luck.
“A través de los párpados entornados veía erguirse y doblarse sobre mí, guardando el mareante compás de la bogada, aquella figura de carbón, que unas veces me sonríe con sus abultados labios de gigante, y otras silba esos aires cargados de religioso sopor, una música compuesta solamente de tres notas tristes, con que los magnetizadores de algunas tribus salvajes adormecen a las grandes culebras.”
—————————————
Sonata de Estío. Memorias del Marqués de Bradomín. Por Ramón del Valle Inclán.
Badass show. Badass technique. Highly recommend both.
beautiful. :’)
