[vulpecul]

Arthur Rackham, 1919

[duchampscigarette]

Man Ray - The Starfish (1928)

[nemfrog]

On the elements of light and their identity with those of matter, radiant and fixed. 1838. Frontispiece. 

Internet Archive

[apacherosepeacock11]

Spring, finally.

The bluebells are blooming and they are giving away gas on the radio again.

[themooninthestars]

[apacherosepeacock11]

It’s funny how you can sometimes feel loss on the wind, as if it’s reaching through time to let you know it’s coming, you must prepare.

Death has been whispering to me for a couple of months. More doula work than I’ve had in a couple years, more thoughts of the infinite than usual.

It’s like being told three months in advance that you’re about to be punched in the face. It didn’t surprise me, but it still fucking hurts.

Still, I’m thankful for the heads up.

[apacherosepeacock11]

Uno mas.

[apacherosepeacock11]

The flavor of a Valencia orange can never be improved upon, and I will always need a second glass of water.

These are facts.

What remains in this life, aside from facts?

The idea that if you use the targeted faucet setting on the showerhead, someone may hear you.

The concept that if you get one slice of watermelon, a second slice of watermelon will naturally follow (but not a rule or fact).

The thought that maybe love is subjective and malleable and just another part of architecting your own bliss in this life.

Do we build everything for ourselves? Does anything just happen to us?

This orange just happened to me.

[myownprivatecinema]

Hiroshima mon amour (1959), dir. Alain Resnais

[apacherosepeacock11]

And for three hours, I’m alone in Copenhagen.

[m-l-rio]

“Calm down, my Sorrow, we must move with care. You called for evening; it descends, it’s here.”

— Charles Baudelaire, “Meditation,” Flowers of Evil (trans. Robert Lowell)

[gothredy]

[cosmicanger]

Tiles by Claudia Lau Studio.

[apacherosepeacock11]

Death is contagious, but not in the way people think.

In the last month, I’ve had two people come to me for death doula work. It felt good, having conversations with people in the worst two weeks of their lives, trying to make sense of the decidedly inexplicable. My capacity for great feeling, handicap more often than not, being used to its greatest potential.

I’ve gotten a little better at keeping a little for myself. Maybe that means I’m a little closer to being ready to do this regularly again.

I’ve missed thinking of death. It wore out its welcome for a while (as it so often does), but it hurt more to know I was running from the thought again. I’d rather face it now than wait until there’s nowhere left to hide.

I woke up at 6 to write 8 pages for work today. I finished that and got in a horror movie before noon. I’m waiting at the beer garden for Charles (perma late).

I can be alive for a little bit now.

Prepping for a midnight departure time on Tuesday.

[apacherosepeacock11]

I wore my Pablo Honey shirt to the apartment party last night. Within ten minutes of arriving, the bait worked its magic: two separate white men under the age of thirty asked 1) if Radiohead is my favorite band, 2) what my favorite album is, and 3) what my favorite songs are.

I usually say Pablo Honey and Creep and “what else have they really dooooone riiight?”

It pissed me off that I felt like answering their questions honestly.

[apacherosepeacock11]

I wish I had really listened to and gotten into this song 2-3 years ago.

Still hits though.

[regardintemporel]

Danny Willems

1988