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@highwaytothestrangerzone
lately I’ve been Overcome With Emotion

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Andy Warhol, Sunsets, part of a collection of 632 prints of the same sunset.
"Sweeping Off the Male Gaze" by Japanese illustrator Yuko Shimizu.
Art Deco bookends featuring Medieval ladies reading. 1920
Max Le Verrier.
A giant lava bubble, over a hundred feet across, explodes violently, extruding ribbons of volcanic glass in the air at the ocean entry in Kalapana, USA

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Japanese mother of pearl fantail dove, 1880
happy birthday, gilbert baker. (june 2, 1951 — march 31, 2017)
band of lace made from human hair, likely worn as a bracelet, 17th century, from V&A
she’s here
Head empty, just sunlight pouring through stained glass windows

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He can sense my judgement of his weird paws
YOU DID NOT COME INTO THIS WORLD. YOU CAME OUT OF IT, LIKE A WAVE FROM THE OCEAN. YOU ARE NOT A STRANGER HERE
festival of carrot make us all right mind and sight
loon at the lake

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Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), poem 85 from “The Gardener”, 1914 Translated by the author from the original Bengali. New York: The Macmillan Company.
It is an hundred years hence now. Go open your doors.
Anne Boyer, What Resembles the Grave But Isn’t
Text:
Always falling into a hole, then saying “ok, this is not your grave, get out of this hole,” getting out of the hole which is not the grave, falling into a hole again, saying “ok, this is also not your grave, get out of this hole,” getting out of that hole, falling into another one; sometimes falling into a hole within a hole, or many holes within holes, getting out of them one after the other, then falling again, saying “this is not your grave, get out of the hole”; sometimes being pushed, saying “you can not push me into this hole, it is not my grave,” and getting out defiantly, then falling into a hole again without any pushing; sometimes falling into a set of holes whose structures are predictable, ideological, and long dug, often falling into this set of structural and impersonal holes; sometimes falling into holes with other people, with other people, saying “this is not our mass grave, get out of this hole,” all together getting out of the hole together, hands and legs and arms and human ladders of each other to get out of the hole that is not the mass grave but that will only be gotten out of together; sometimes the willful-falling into a hole which is not the grave because it is easier than not falling into a hole really, but then once in it, realizing it is not the grave, getting out of the hole eventually; sometimes falling into a hole and languishing there for days, weeks, months, years, because while not the grave very difficult, still, to climb out of and you know after this hole there’s just another and another; sometimes surveying the landscape of holes and wishing for a high quality final hole; sometimes thinking of who has fallen into holes which are not graves but might be better if they were; sometimes too ardently contemplating the final hole while trying to avoid the provisional ones; sometimes dutifully falling and getting out, with perfect fortitude, saying “look at the skill and spirit with which I rise from that which resembles the grave but isn’t!”
— Anne Boyer, “What Resembles the Grave but Isn’t”