Westfall

But none of them realized as Dalí did that dreams are actually not indistinct and misty and floaty. They happen in the middle of the afternoon. Crystal clear. …And dreams don’t have a subtext. You don’t think in a dream. The most unusual stuff happens in the most unusal way. All in broad daylight with no shade. John Cooper Clarke, on Salvador Dalí (via nevver)

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question….
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot (1888–1965).  Prufrock and Other Observations.  1920.

(via debourbon)

(via labelleotero)