Kevin Provost
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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shark vs the universe
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
The Bowery Presents
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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Kevin Provost

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Scooped this molecule of a snake off of the bike path
tfw you've got plenty of tactics but no strategy
There are no sex scenes, and all the food looks horrible.

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i feel like scary standing water and i want to feel like a river or at least a creek
Philosophers be like philosophers are the only people with souls
Old cottage built into the canyon wall. Monticello, Utah.
*forgetting what decade im supposed to be putting at the center of my identity* being butch is all about reading international newspapers at cafes and engaging in heated discussions with an eccentric group of writers artists and dilettantes
Nous ne sommes qu’un peu de chaleur solaire emmagasinée, organisée, un souvenir de Soleil. Un peu de phosphore qui brûle dans les méninges du monde.
— Paul Cézanne

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Top photo: Artist Betye Saar in her Los Angeles studio, 1970. She is pictured holding Black Girl's Window (1969), an autobiographical collage shown below in more detail.
One hundred years after Virginia Woolf explored the limitations of language in On Being Ill, the Piranesi author reflects on the power of st
In the hospital ward a consultant gastroenterologist appeared.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I feel,” I said, “very ill.”
This, apparently, was not the concise yet comprehensive answer that I had imagined it to be. He seemed to require something more. “Can you describe it?” he asked.
I couldn’t. That anguished, pressurised feeling – a sensation somewhere between burning and falling – that extended through my torso, my limbs, my entire body was by now so familiar to me, I was astonished that it didn’t have a name and that I didn’t know it. How could this be? I was, after all, a prize-winning novelist.
Frustrated I fell back on anger. Was the doctor stupid? Didn’t he know what “feeling very ill” meant?
In her essay On Being Ill, Virginia Woolf says, “let a sufferer try to describe a pain in his head to a doctor and language at once runs dry”.
At least I was in good company.
I remember very well what I wanted to say to the doctor: “I feel like I am about to fall off the world.” I had the sense to realise that he would probably not be able to do much with this. What doctors need is a clear description of something physical, but what the sufferer experiences may be as much emotional as it is physical – it may even have a spiritual component. It is very difficult in my experience to separate the different strands.
“It dropped so low in my regard...”
by Emily Dickinson
It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, And go to pieces on the stones At the bottom of my mind;
Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less Than I reviled myself For entertaining plated wares Upon my silver shelf.
Is there a way of being intellectual that isn’t social? When I think about the way we use the term ‘study,’ I think we are committed to the idea that study is what you do with other people. It’s talking and walking around with other people, working, dancing, suffering, some irreducible convergence of all three, held under the name of speculative practice. The notion of a rehearsal – being in a kind of workshop, playing in a band, in a jam session, or old men sitting on a porch, or people working together in a factory – there are these various modes of activity. The point of calling it ‘study’ is to mark that the incessant and irreversible intellectuality of these activities is already present.
Fred Moten, "The General Antagonism: Interview with Stevphen Shukaitis" in The Undercommons: Fugitive Planning and Black Study

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Jacob Anderson talking about the icons that shaped his Louis — Grace Jones & Eartha Kitt (Part ll)
Mark Rothko, address to the Pratt Institute