Self-Reliance is an essay written by American Transcendentalist philosopher and essayist, Ralph Waldo Emerson

i cannot get near enough of this image ^. it just..wow. i just want to emulate emulate emulate with all of the oversizing in great, yamamoto lines of class and with a similar sort of dreamy materials. i guess i like it mostly because of both the grace and dissonance; both aspects of which are just inspiring me no end. its a nice fresh of breath air (< oops, i typed that quickly and wrong, but think i'll actually leave it that way..) from the other end of the oversizing-in-fashion-spectrum that seems to only really include/involve cheap stretch-cotton shirt/dresses and whatnot that just can't seem to say their goodbyes to the world. i haven't felt this way about an image in a fair while, its refreshing.

now should you expect to see something that you hadn't seen in somebody you'd known since you were sixteen ?
if love is a bolt from the blue, then what is that bolt but a glorified screw ?
..and that doesn't hold nothing together.
far from these nonsense bars and their nowhere music..it's making me sick, and I know it's making you sick.
there's nothing there, it's like eating air.
it's like drinking gin with nothing else in
..and that doesn't hold me together.

but for one crowded hour you were the only one in the room,
and i sailed around all of those bumps in the night to your beacon in the gloom.
i thought i had found my golden September in the middle of that purple June,
but one crowded hour would lead to my wreck and ruin.

and i know you like your boys to take their medicine from the bowl with a silver spoon, who run away with the dish and scale the fish by the silvery light of the moon, who were taught from the womb to believe till the tomb that as far as their bleeding eyes see is a pleasure pen, meant for them, builded and rent for them.
..not for the likes of me, not for the like of you and me.

well put me in a cage full of lions, i learned to speak lion;
in fact i know the language well.
i picked it up while i was versing myself in the languages they speak in hell.

for one crowded hour, you were the only one in the room.
well I played a few songs for those bumps in the night, in fact i played this very tune.
you said, "What is this six-stringed instrument but an adolescent loom?"
and one crowded hour would lead to my wreck and ruin.

-what i do is not a bad occupation, someone is always willing to pay.
+i would find it tiring.
-oh no , its quite ________, almost peaceful
no need to believe in either side
or any side
there is no courage.
theres only yourself.
the belief is your own precision




- all images are just from jak&jil