anachronome, adj.

the right weapon and the right word.

[lindaeastman]

game changing, life affirming, effortless beauty, spellbinding, the only woman who ever existed on the face of earth etc

[lifeinpoetry]

But there is something that happens when you are told you are Too Much You begin to ask everyone, how small would you like me?

— Mary Lambert, from “You Are with the Wrong Person,” Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across

[anachronome]

i’ve missed you, weird website.

dropped in today to appeal my flagged posts of art featuring the bare limbs of women. *heavy eye roll*

now back to a day of careful, sleepy work avoidance.

[madameretro-deactivated20150527]

Virginia Woolf (1882-1941)

Photographer: Lady Ottoline Morrell

Vintage snapshot print, 4 ¼ in. x 2 ¾ in.  (107 mm x 69 mm)

June 1923

[nyctoheart]

the view outside my house

[greedv-archive]

Go Naga! Go, go!

[bolinonly]

Bolin does lava bending!!!

[spiirt-deactivated20191026]

HELLO??????

[adrasteiax]

There was a Helen before there was a War, but who remembers her?

H.D., from Winter Love (via sapphoshands)

[help-n-quotes]

Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.

Sylvia Plath (via klowee)

[soracities]

2019 is gonna be all about the monstrous feminine. here’s to keeping it feral, grotesque and unhinged, ladies 🥂

[theartofmoviestills]

Desert Hearts | Donna Deitch | 1985

[lillithblackwell]

“I was much the same person as I am now: gloomy, thoughtful, unhappy in groups, always reading in the back seat of cars”

Donna Tartt on her 14 year old self

[anachronome]

i’ve just had an extremely fucked up day. i get so brutally and thoroughly smacked down by my inability to understand the absences that structure my life now. when i’m down, i can’t get back up again for hours or days. sometimes i’m out in public while it’s happening and i think of that allie brosh image of biking home from the video store in her hoodie with that manic, free grin on her face. what on earth do other people see when they look at my body on days like this. some sort of rumple of fog with fabric bits stuck on, i guess?

[you guys... i’m sorry i’m like this. i want to be thoughtful friend and fandom friend and art friend and instead i am just always showing up and sobbing in a corner for like six hours while i eat all your chips and then borrow a blanket and fall asleep, still crying, in some place where probably i make stuffed-up-from-crying wheezing noises all night and am still in the way when you have to get up and go to work the next day.]

[accelerationist-king-piccolo]

[devonbragg-art]

quick doodle

[anachronome]

as it turns out, i might be avoiding work, responsibility, and any suggestion of mental focus because i am desperately sad. i tried the mechanism of asking myself why i can’t focus; why i’m not opening the document and doing the thing; why i’m letting the hours scurry off by other ways.

and then, in what turned out to be an answer, i suppose, i scrolled back through the pages of my inbox where i keep what is unresolved. marked unread there, though i’ve read them, of course, are high-water marks: giving notice; [the breakup, unattested]; the play i still haven’t read; planning the visit that happened and the one that didn’t; the marriage announcement; money, tickets, logistics; blanks and attempts; thanks i’d forgotten, for commitment; excitement i’d forgotten (or relief, or approval, i think now), about my social chemistry with the person the excitement was actually about.

it’s amazing how much i forget; it’s amazing what one wouldn’t remember but is what happened, when you stack the years on each other:

three years ago yesterday: a whole three, collected from an airport.

two years ago yesterday: two home together from a different flight.

one year ago yesterday: one girl; no planes.

yesterday: a see-through sparkler.

the day before that: inside, ensnugged, bewrapped, submerged, away.