Bernice Bing
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@ungay
Bernice Bing

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Bernice Bing (1936 - 1998)
A San Francisco native, Chinese American, artist, lesbian, community activistβBernice Bing, was a bridge between many worlds. She came of age during the Beat era and entered the San Francisco arts landscape in the 1960s with her paintings, which synthesize abstract modernist painting with Chinese calligraphy.
So work is just a group project over and over huh
Hope Lange in WILD IN THE COUNTRY (1961)
Marilyn Monroe and Marlene Dietrich at a press party in New York on January 7, 1955. Photo by Milton Greene.

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Spencer (2021) dir. Pablo LarraΓn
this bag is iconic.
Cher in a silk jumpsuit with second husband Greg Allman, Ron Galella, 1975
Women on the run.
Films in Frame - Persona, Potrait of the Lady on Fire, Licorice Pizza, The Worst Person in the World, Spencer, The Double Life of Veronique, Little Women, Frances Ha, Fleabag, Run Lola Run

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πππ πΌππππππ’πππ π±ππ’ ππππππ’ πππππ ππ ππ,
ππππ ππ ππππ,
"π΄πππ πππ ππππ πππππππππ πππππππ’ πππ ππ ππππππ πππππππ πππ πππ ππππππ."
Rip to when βweβre just pieces of meat floating on a random rockβ was a fresh insight
Itβs hackneyed now
The Wrestler (2008) dir. Darren Aronofsky
This week, our union presented our 32-hour work week proposal to management
It went pretty well
I really asked Reddit people for advice on my βfriendβ and the replies are like
βTheyβre a selfish toxic personβ
βShe sounds like a userβ
π§πΌ

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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how do I stop being so horny for him when we've broken up and there's no going back?
one of the things that makes breakups difficult is the way you are suddenly responsible for all of your self. I mean that the many different levels of existence you have in a relationship are suddenly compressed down to one, for which you are completely responsible: your life after him.
leaving parts of yourself in another person, like leaving your clothes at their house, loosens the manic responsibility we have for ourselves. the manic responsibility it takes to appear normal in pubic while you remain what you always are: the thicket of mind and flesh, the one on fire with the awareness of death, of your grave-bound life. and above all, the awareness of the crumbling, meaningless insubstantiality of life lived only by your own lights. that burden is what the relationship relieved, and it's this remembered lightness of self that is the essence of your horniness.
you can say you miss the smell of his skin or his unwashed hair or of yourself after you fuck, but what you really miss is not material. you miss the place you once had inside his mind, a place that once felt safe enough to deposit parts of your self. the parts you could not describe deadpan to your parents; things like
the paradoxical freedom of a hand on your throat,
the bright coziness of walking by the alley where you sucked his cock as the rain fell on you both,
the pleasure of your body being read by him, of being privately transparent to him, even or especially in public,
or any of the hundred other ways, lascivious or not, your life with him made you irresponsibly porous to his mind and then the world.
for a while he was a place and the reason you could relieve yourself of responsibility for every little thing you think or want, the place you could surrender the total control of yourself that solitude imposes. and your desire for him was identical with the feeling of your own personal court being gavelled out of session, the court where you continuously tried your behavior to find out how successfully it hid what youβve been told you ought to hide.Β
I would take the lessons this relationship tried to teach you, that your body was not made to metabolize complex carbohydrates into self-criticism. that awareness is not the same thing as suspicion. that bending your inner life into a closed circuit of regulated transgression is cop shit.