titsay
ojovivo
$LAYYYTER
Today's Document
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
sheepfilms
Product Placement
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todays bird
we're not kids anymore.
hello vonnie
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Peter Solarz
NASA
will byers stan first human second
roma★
Sweet Seals For You, Always
izzy's playlists!
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Greece
seen from South Korea
seen from Canada
seen from Spain
seen from Malaysia
seen from Algeria
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
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@adelinasarkisyan
I have quite a lengthy interview with @helloashleyberry available to read now on her blog. I speak on rhythm, body, wellness, soul, mystery, poetry & writing, spirituality, self-care, solitude, self-love, relationships, and so much more. Visit @helloashleyberry's IG for the link to her blog or just go to helloashleyberry.com/blog. If anything I say speaks to you, please share below. <3 #spirituality#soul#art#womenwhowrite#thelivewellseries
"Aer" by Adelina Sarkisyan. #adelinasarkisyan#poetry#poem#prose#poet#writing#writer#womenwhowrite#witch#spiritual#art#magic#dream
Moira Shearer in The Red Shoes. I've been feeling bombarded by this story recently, feeling it everywhere. For example, in my most recent ballet class, a classmate told me her shoes were from a store called "The Red Shoes." Then I thought back to Elizabeth Gilbert and Big Magic and her revelation that ideas find us, choose us, and desire to be birthed through us. Romancing the muse is a delicate art. I will see where it leads. A little love note: The signs are out there. Inspiration is out there. The muse speaks to us in every which way. Say yes. #creative#creativewoman#creativity#muse#theredshoes#ballet#inspiration#inspire#love#art#writing#womenwhowrite#poetry#divinefeminine#story
Familiar by Adelina Sarkisyan.
“Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love - that makes life and nature harmonise. The birds are consulting about their migrations, the trees are putting on the hectic or the pallid hues of decay, and begin to strew the ground, that one's very footsteps may not disturb the repose of earth and air, while they give us a scent that is a perfect anodyne to the restless spirit. Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns." [Letter to Miss Eliot, Oct. 1, 1841]” ― George Eliot Image by @nonalimmen
Supple– branches of the mulberry– were her arms, free and warm, swaying in the summer wind. I held down a branch to one side, gathered the fine mass of leaves in my hand, lifted up, and tongued into the ripeness. The crow in the tree shouted: ‘This is not a mistletoe–toe–toe.’ Peaches! And all was pulsing under the gold– beaten bark; custom had made her bold. She kissed me until the South Pole ice began to shift, explorer ships blew their banjo horns and the season turned. The sky had more light. Was it the date-palm overhead dropping its divine fruit to the ground? or the peach, adding to sweetness, plumped down? Either, we ate to refocus time. But the sky’s looks still fall on us hard as hailstones as we dream our dream of tasting winter the summer way –impeachment of ice-cream.
alamgir hashmi, “tropics” (via pyotra)
ولو أن إبليس يوما رآك، لقبل عينيك ثم اهتدى
“And if the devil was to ever see you, he’d kiss your eyes and repent”
Farouq Jwaydeh فاروق جويدة
I looked at the moon and trees and birds―all the beauty of being―and I wondered if that beauty grew within me as well. And if so, where? All this time we have been sacralizing nature as separate from us. Nature as something external. Something outside the body. In reality, it isn't only outside the body. It is inside the body. It IS the body. I find these palms etched in mountains. These eyes wide in ocean froth. This breath lithe in leafless trees. I know where beauty hides when it wants to swell from within, and cannot. This body, webbed with roots of becoming. And at once, I felt beloved. Fiercely beloved, of my own. ―Adelina Sarkisyan
“Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.” ― Frida Kahlo
(via incredipickles)
If there be a room within me that I may rest, let me recede. Let me disguise myself in that place I cannot reach, if only when I have seeped my feet into the earth and felt it cry. I have dug into the ocean sand until the water billowed up and away, then dug some more. Little roots and shells lay like a quiet treasure to be swallowed. And swallow I did until I grew an ocean within me. Dig. Dig. Dig. I have felt leagues of myself. There, between the cliffs of my body and soul, I recede. Swaying, breathing, quiet. ―Adelina Sarkisyan (image by Ekarerina Belinskaya) #adelinasarkisyan
“A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river / but then he's still left / with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away / but then he's still left with his hands.” ― Richard Siken, Boot Theory
elements// #adelinasarkisyan
A field of poppies surrounds me. In the night I hear them swaying like plump cherries my mother ate as she waited for my arrival. I have borrowed these feet. These hands. They do not know my name. Tarracotta woman, they say. A stomach of cherry seeds and pollen. When the Minoan figurines were found, wearing crowns of birds and poppy seeds, they were thought to be goddesses; but perhaps they were just our mothers. ― Adelina Sarkisyan #adelinasarkisyan #rp ... Blessed Mother's Day. I am blessed to have my own poppy goddess whom I call mother. Love you mom. (Photo by Peter Bull)
I am a grimoire of words not yet chanted. Tell me what my name is and I will tell you why you are wrong. —Adelina Sarkisyan #adelinasarkisyan
At birth, they fed me milk and honey and washed away the blood. Is it any wonder every month I try to forget. I desire red: sun, pomegranate, scarab, poppy. A blooming of the mouth, the lips, the eyelids. Every October, my heart escapes to the fields and marshes; the shores of a world I do not yet belong to. I see the green turn orange; the body of autumn. I dance in the coming dusk where even color is one with the darkness. Yet, the red does not cease its becoming. Beneath my skin, it lingers like cochineal nymphs waiting to be harvested. They do not forget the color of their metamorphose. They do not let me forget my own. This, a body of seasons not yet discovered. This, the color of becoming. —Adelina Sarkisyan #adelinasarkisyan
Girl Bouquet, 1896, William-Adolphe Bouguereau. Because art is magic and magic should be shared.
the blossimg #adelinasarkisyan
