Wendy Cope, "From June to December: Summer Villanelle"
“In the watery beams of the summer moon, Naked, dreaming,”
— Arthur Rimbaud, from Credo in Unam: III (tr. by Paul Schmidt)
on girlhood on becoming on being delusional on not being a girl on being a star & a bloom & a fruit instead
- Virginia Woolf, The Waves
- Andrea Zanatelli’s artworks, featured in “Love Is Enough: Poetry Threaded with Love”
- Carrie Fountain, from "Late Spring in the Mesilla Valley", Burn Lake
- (feel free to msg me if you own this picture)
- Jenny Zhang, excerpt from "Sour Girl" in office magazine
- La Casa Azul. Hannah Sprehe photographed by Estévez + Belloso for Puss Puss Magazine N°11, Spring/Summer 2020.
- Bernadette Mayer, Desires
- ‘White Nights, Northern Garden’ by Victoria Crowe, Scottish artist.
- Hélène Cixous, "Bathsheba, Interior Bible", from Stigmata: Escaping Texts
“The trick is not to stop wanting. The trick is to stop abandoning yourself and your life every time you want something. The trick is not to stop eating. The trick is to stop blaming yourself for your hunger. The trick is to use your hunger to build something. Hunger is a kind of a void, but it’s not negative. Hunger makes space for your feelings. Hunger makes space for hard work. Hunger makes space for building the kinds of things that TURN THE WORLD ON. Hunger is a place to start growing. Hunger forces you into a state of radical honesty. Hunger makes things awkward, and awkwardness is magical and righteous.”
— Heather Havrilesky, “Why Do I Always Have a Crush on Someone?”
“the year of letting go, of understanding loss. grace. of the word ‘no’ and also being able to say ‘you are not kind’. the year of humanity/humility. when the whole world couldn’t get out of bed. everyone i’ve met this year, says the same thing ‘you are so easy to be around, how do you do that?’. the year i broke open and dug out all the rot with own hands. the year i learnt small talk. and how to smile at strangers. the year i understood that i am my best when i reach out and ask ‘do you want to be my friend?’. the year of sugar, everywhere. softness. sweetness. honey honey. the year of being alone, and learning how much i like it. the year of hugging people i don’t know, because i want to know them. the year i made peace and love, right here.”
— Warsan Shire (via oaluz)
Fall of the Rebel Angels, carved out of a single piece of marble in 1740 by Italian sculptor Agostino Fasolato, it depicts 60 fallen angels.
“Every week my parents drive an hour and half away to visit me in Los Angeles. They stock my fridge, clean my house, do my laundry, cook meals for the week and fix anything broken. It’s important to them that I stay on track ever since I overcame a decade-long opiate addiction. I’ve spent the last two years relearning how to live, replacing all the shame I had with love and connection instead. I am so grateful to be alive, and for the love, support and hope they give me.” — Sandy Kim (Koreatown, Los Angeles)
“Love is present in my life in so many different ways, it’s hard to fully express with words. Cooking is one of my favorite activities and I can spend hours in the kitchen, but even more so is the act of sharing it with those that I care for. The joy I see in their faces when I present them a home-cooked meal is one that never gets old.” — Jingyu Lin (Brooklyn)
“My parents have been married for almost 58 years. They are a quiet couple without many activities, especially during the pandemic. But they still enjoy their daily routines. Many Japanese people, especially of my parents’ generation, do not express their feelings physically, such as with hugging or holding hands. But I wanted to capture the quiet moments in their lives together, to show their way of love, and my way of love to them, through the lens.” — Hiroko Masuike (Osaka, Japan)
“Your grave is untouched by flowers I might have brought. You left me this fierce love of spaces. My newest memorial to you is a meadow garden holding stones of many shapes: mushroom, serpent, loaf of bread. You enter through the East and spiral through it til you come to two log chairs. It’s stunning the way the wind through the pines still can’t make the sound of your voice.”
— Judith Vollmer, “Poem at an Unmarked Grave,” from The Door Open to the Fire
Bitter insomnia comes to light its candles ... Time is not a bed, the earth is not sleep ... A room betrayed by sleep No dream And night is a grave.
Adonis, Selected Poems
Nostalgia is like hey remember that time in your life when you were unbearably sad and angry all the time? What if you weren't? What if you actually miss it? What if magnolia trees never smell like that again?
[girl who is a complete loser and has been one her entire life]: actually, loner hermit virgin is just my vibe right now... i'm just curating my vibe okay. that's it. it's just my whole vibe. not a lot of people would get it... whatever
go outside actually it is awesome
“Opera has the power to warn you that you have wasted your life. You haven't acted on your desires. You've suffered a stunted, vicarious existence. You've silenced your passions. The volume, height, depth, lushness, and excess of operatic utterance reveal, by contrast, how small your gestures have been until now, how impoverished your physicality; you have only used a fraction of your bodily endowment, and your throat is closed.”
— Wayne Koestenbaum, The Queen’s Throat: Opera, Homosexuality, and the Mystery of Desire.
never enough time in the day to do fuck all
there's always time in the night to do fuck all
but watch out