Union, 1930, Kazimir Malevich

shark vs the universe
dirt enthusiast
YOU ARE THE REASON

roma★

blake kathryn
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
we're not kids anymore.
Stranger Things
h
Three Goblin Art

★
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Cosmic Funnies
Jules of Nature

Product Placement

oozey mess
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
$LAYYYTER
ojovivo

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@salome-94
Union, 1930, Kazimir Malevich

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from Virginia Woolf’s diaries, February 27th, 1926
Albrecht Dürer, Heavenly Body in the Night Sky, 1497 Bibliothèque Infernale on FB
from “The Pillow Book” — Sei Shonagon (c. 966 – 1017)
This poem is concerned with language on a very plain level. Look at it talking to you. You look out a window Or pretend to fidget. You have it but you don’t have it. You miss it, it misses you. You miss each other. The poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot. What’s a plain level? It is that and other things, Bringing a system of them into play. Play? Well, actually, yes, but I consider play to be A deeper outside thing, a dreamed role-pattern, As in the division of grace these long August days Without proof. Open-ended. And before you know It gets lost in the steam and chatter of typewriters. It has been played once more. I think you exist only To tease me into doing it, on your level, and then you aren’t there Or have adopted a different attitude. And the poem Has set me softly down beside you. The poem is you.
-John Ashberry, “Paradoxes and Oxymorons”

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Willem de Kooning
Painting on newspaper
We see movies in which people are represented as being in love who never talk with one another, who fall into bed without ever discussing their bodies, their sexual needs, their likes and dislikes. Indeed, the message received from the mass media is that knowledge makes love less compelling; that it is ignorance that gives love its erotic and transgressive edge. These messages are often brought to us by profiteering producers who have no clue about the art of loving, who substitute their mystified visions because they do not really know how to genuinely portray loving interaction…
— “all about love: New Visions” by bell hooks
clippings from “women seeking women” personal ads in the baltimore sun, 1995
i keep thinking about how a lot of people seem to engage with existing works as like, summaries of themselves. There are a lot of concepts we just come into contact with now but might never actually fully engage with or understand, even though to live our lives in might be helpful to think about them for longer than 5 minutes at a time. Obviously like skimming wikipedia pages to add knowledge of something to your personal party-chatter bank but also like, hearing about a book and buying it and starting to remember yourself as having read the book based on hearsay even if you never actually did. that freaks me out. But a lot of us seem to feel a distinct humilation in having to say “im not familiar with that” so we skim enough off the top of dozens of weighty subjects and works just to avoid that sensation. I know growing up i felt like being well-read was a competition and that there wasn’t enough…. cultural time to finish a book and engage with it “the right way” because i’m such a slow reader. And i wanted to quantify how long it would take to “get” something so i could move on. it makes me wonder about what purpose art and culture and even theory serve now when it all gets ground up into content

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Emily Dickinson, 1878, Emily Dickinson Collection, Box 4 Folder 54, Amherst College, Amherst, MA
/ One note from One Bird / Is better than a Million Words / A scabbard holds (has - needs) but one sword /
can i legally have no name ? 3am thoughts
winterlief:
“The two sides of a secret are repression and expression, just as the two sides of the poem are the told and the untold. We must be careful not to take the word as the meaning itself; words do not ‘capture’ a moment as much as they ‘communicate’ it—they are a bridge that, paradoxically, breaks isolation and loneliness without eradicating it. It is the first experience you ever had of reading a decent poem: ‘oh, somebody else is lonely, too!’”
Mary Ruefle, from Madness, Rack, and Honey (Wave Books, 2012)

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Book with Message | Books, Other Books | eBay!
2.5.18
Nothing stands still in this world. When I say to you sky, I mean field more than sky. And when I say field, I mean more sky than field. The words move the water out from under us; still we are more words than water. The tree that is hollow is not always hollow and not always tree. It is the tree that hollows. The self that speaks is not wholly spoken, not wholly self. It is the one that is the other. Nothing stands still, and yet there is a nothing to speak, and a world in which to speak of it.