graveyard girl

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ 𝕹𝖔 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖘 𝖒𝖊. 𝕹𝖔 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖋𝖚𝖈𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖊. 𝕾𝖔 𝖉𝖔𝖓’𝖙 𝖙𝖗𝖞.

[kielovesi]

(x)(x)(x) (x)(x)(x)

Finnish ryijy tapestries from the 19th century

[h1--h-n--s1---e--p-y]

[mybeingthere]

Lacemakers (Brittany, France), 1920. 

Via yama bato

[stomachofyourdeadsoulmate]

[heartshop]

Jenny Holzer  Living Series: There is no reason to sleep curled up …, 1981

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

The house is black (Forugh Farrokhzad, 1963)

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

‘The Sentence’ by Anna Akhmatova as seen in The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry edited by Ilya Kaminsky & Susan Harris

[smakkabagms]

“Melancholia ends up in asymbolia, in loss of meaning: if I am no longer capable of translating or metaphorizing, I become silent and I die”

— Julia Kristeva  Black Sun: Melancholia and Depression

[lafilleblanc]

Neil Krug

Phantom stage 1

neilkrug.com

[mothwood]

Alejandra Pizarnik (trans. Susan Bassnet), from Fragments to Overcome the Silence

[amourduloup-deactivated20210512]

“dear Antigone, I take it as the task of the translator to forbid that you should ever lose your screams”

— Anne Carson, “The Task of the Translator of Antigone,” from Antigonick  (via days-of-reading)

[opens-at-nightfall]

Another bejeweled spider web, shimmering in the starlight like a diamond necklace…

[imp]

"Laing believed that mental illness was a sane response to an insane world and that a psychiatrist had a duty to communicate empathetically with patients. Once, when faced with a naked schizophrenic woman rocking silently to and fro in a padded cell, Laing took off his own clothes and sat next to her, rocking to the same rhythm until she spoke for the first time in months."

[sadponyguerrillagirl96-deactiva]

Finally, I am weary. Years spent homesick for you. Everything about you so achingly familiar and yet you enforce the absence of familiarity - insist upon it. Why. Can this world be any crueler?

[angelriot]

“I have never felt so wretched–I really must have grown up too much. Earlier whenever you banished me I believed that we would meet again. Now I feel as if I’ve been completely torn away from life, as if there will never ever be anything else again. There is no life without you. I always said it, always knew it, now I feel it with my whole essence, everything, everything which I thought about with pleasure now has no value–it’s revolting. I’m not threatening, I’m not exhorting forgiveness. […] I know that there is no promise you would believe in. I know that there is no way of seeing you, of being reconciled that would not be a torment to you. […] How terrible it is to part if you know that you are in love and that the parting is your own fault. I’m sitting in a cafe and howling, the waitresses are laughing at me. It’s terrifying to think that all the rest of my life will be like this.”

— Vladimir Mayakovsky, excerpts from a letter to Lili Brik, 28 December 1922 (via mayakovsky)

[lifeinpoetry]

There is a kind of pressure in humans to take whatever is most beloved by them / and smash it.

Anne Carson, from “Book of Isaiah,”Glass, Irony, and God (via abattoirette)

[watchoutforintellect]

Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough.

Jean-Paul Sartre - from No Exit (via watchoutforintellect)