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will byers stan first human second
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Today's Document
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Show & Tell

if i look back, i am lost
Claire Keane

JVL

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trying on a metaphor
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Monterey Bay Aquarium
AnasAbdin

JBB: An Artblog!
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@gnosises

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I like what you heighten in me.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath — July 1950 - July 1953
“Perhaps it was the snow, or the food, or the impossibility of my life that made me hope to go to bed and wake up with the past intact. I seemed to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.”
— Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
Vincent & Theo Van Gogh
Hannah Gadsby in Nanette (2018) // At Eternity’s Gate dir. Julian Schnabel (2018) // Loving Vincent dir. Dorota Kobiela & Hugh Welchman (2017) // Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to Theo Van Gogh (1880) // Almond Blossoms by Vincent Van Gogh (1890); painted as a gift for the birth of his brother Theo’s son named after him
In certain latitudes there comes a span of time approaching and following the summer solstice, some weeks in all, when the twilights turn long and blue. This period of the blue nights does not occur in subtropical California, where I lived for much of the time I will be talking about here and where the end of daylight is fast and lost in the blaze of the dropping sun, but it does occur in New York, where I now live. You notice it first as April ends and May begins, a change in the season, not exactly a warming — in fact not at all a warming — yet suddenly summer seems near, a possibility, even a promise. You pass a window, you walk to Central Park, you find yourself swimming in the color blue: the actual light is blue, and over the course of an hour or so this blue deepens, becomes more intense even as it darkens and fades, approximates finally the blue of the glass on a clear day at Chartres, or that of the Cerenkov radiation thrown off by the fuel rods in the pools of nuclear reactors. The French called this time of day “l’heure bleue.” To the English it was “the gloaming.” The very word “gloaming” reverberates, echoes—the gloaming, the glimmer, the glitter, the glisten, the glamour—carrying in its consonants the images of houses shuttering, gardens darkening, grass-lined rivers slipping through the shadows. During the blue nights you think the end of day will never come. As the blue nights draw to a close (and they will, and they do) you experience an actual chill, an apprehension of illness, at the moment you first notice: the blue light is going, the days are already shortening, the summer is gone. This book is called “Blue Nights” because at the time I began it I found my mind turning increasingly to illness, to the end of promise, the dwindling of the days, the inevitability of the fading, the dying of the brightness. Blue nights are the opposite of the dying of the brightness, but they are also its warning.
Joan Didion, Blue Nights (p. 3–4)

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why does the chain by fleetwood mac go so hard there's no beat drop or anything just a guitar/bass instrumental and lyrics that absolutely fuck
“I met the wolf alone and was devoured in peace.”
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from The Collected Poems; “True Encounter,” (via thesparkandthespread)

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My mother forbad us to walk backwards. That is how the dead walk, she would say. Where did she get this idea? Perhaps from a bad translation. The dead, after all, do not walk backwards but they do walk behind us. They have no lungs and cannot call out but would love for us to turn around. They are victims of love, many of them.
Anne Carson, from On Walking Backwards in “Plainwater: Essays And Poetry” (via adrasteiax)
emily bronte: “he’s more myself than i am” / cixous: “who are you who are so strangely me?” / pizarnik: “accept the part of me that is you”
Madonna at Paradise Garage!
Woman, open the door, don’t let it sting I wanna breathe that fire again

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Then I saw myself as I was–not nearly what I wanted. I did not grow like the rose, dangerous and inviting steps to my heart, and my heart was not perfect–hidden, dusty and small.
Lia Purpura, from “Bee,” featured in When She Named Fire: An Anthology (via violentwavesofemotion)