my heart is a stopped geranium.

the bad light is near and nothing is real. caitlan. thirty-five.

[bluebeardsbride-deactivated2021]

— María Negroni, ‘The Exemplary Theater of Sadness’ Dark Museum (translated by Michelle Gil-Montero)

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Erosion, oil painting by Kim Jakobsson

[requiem-on-water]

"The Soul's Journey" (2025) by Chiharu Shiota | Ph: Charles Roussel

[badnights]

Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies

[fashionlandscapeblog]

Francis Bacon

Man Drinking, 1955⁠

Oil on canvas.

[gouged-doll]

david spriggs

[soleilinfini]

deep water trawling, jorie graham

[lesbianartandartists]

Anna Campbell, After Anne Carson, After Sappho, 2015

This pick – or plectrum, which the lyric poet Sappho is credited with inventing – is foil-stamped with a fragment of Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho’s Fragment 31, also known as the Poem of Jealousy, sourced from If Not Winter: Fragments of Sappho (Vintage, 2003).  Each pick is set into a laser-cut mount that still bears the tendriled smoke patterns of its production, pointing back to the burning energy that fueled the poem.

source

[charnel-grounds]

Julia Soboleva, “Naked Sun,” 2026

[recondita]

[banji-effect]

Tracey Emin, I never Asked to Fall in Love - You made me Feel like This, 2018

[thejogging]

possible hidden message in low calorie soft drink, 2013

aspartame, metal engraver

%

[funeral]

Our consciousness allows us to know that a realm exists beyond thoughts and words. We can comprehend the notion of the incomprehensible. We can know that there may be an infinite number of things we cannot know. In this, consciousness is the source of our disquiet about not only the unknown but the unknowable. At the same time it illuminates, it veils. Worse, not only must we accept our unknowing, but we must deal with what we can know but can never fully articulate—the vague shadows and outlines we can point to but never quite grasp.

Robert Pantano, The Terrible Paradox of Self-Awareness

[contemporary-visual-art]

David Altmejd, God, 2017

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Painting, oil and pastel on linen (1946) by Francis Bacon

Read more about this painting here.

[funeral]

The content of the unconscious is both most hidden and most familiar, darkest and most compelling; and it creates the fiercest anxiety as well as the greatest hope. It is not bound by a specific time or location or a logical sequence of events, as defined by our rationality. Without our awareness, the unconscious takes us back to the oldest times of our lives. The strange, most ancient, most distant, and at the same time most familiar locations which a fairy tale speaks about suggest a voyage into the interior of our mind, into the realms of unawareness and the unconscious.

Bruno Bettelheim, The Uses of Enchantment

[ubernoir]