-brennan lee mulligan
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Mike Driver

izzy's playlists!
occasionally subtle

PR's Tumblrdome
i don't do bad sauce passes

Andulka
AnasAbdin
$LAYYYTER

Love Begins
Monterey Bay Aquarium
One Nice Bug Per Day
KIROKAZE

blake kathryn

#extradirty

No title available

roma★
sheepfilms
d e v o n

No title available

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Canada

seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Indonesia
seen from United States
seen from France

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Netherlands

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
@beebuttts
-brennan lee mulligan
From French artist Helena Hauss' contemporary ceramics series ‘Hell Hath No Fury’
Do you ever wanna bond with someone so bad you’re like “damn i wish we were knights on a dangerous quest”
Fire of Love (Sara Dosa, 2022)
i need to know every language immediately
when w. h. auden said “evil is unspectacular and always human” and ursula k. leguin said “this is the great treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain”
and also: “imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating.” — simone weil, tr. richard rees
Ethel Cain by Avery Norman for Document Journal June 2022
oh uh. scuse me. just a lil snail crossing your dash
“The bad reading [of Gender Trouble] goes something like this: I can get up in the morning, look in my closet, and decide which gender I want to be today. I can take out a piece of clothing and change my gender: stylize it, and then that evening I can change it again and be something radically other, so that what you get is something like the commodification of gender, and the understanding of taking on a gender as a kind of consumerism … When my whole point was that the very formation of subjects, the very formation of persons, presupposes gender in a certain way—that gender is not to be chosen and that “performativity” is not radical choice and it’s not voluntarism … Performativity has to do with repetition, very often with the repetition of oppressive and painful gender norms to force them to resignify. This is not freedom, but a question of how to work the trap that one is inevitably in.”
— Judith Butler (via poorly-curated)
it is past time we jettisoned the useless false dichotomy of introversion vs. extroversion and just accepted that everybody has a minimum amount of social interaction, failing which, they get really weird. and everybody has a maximum amount of social interaction, exceeding which, they get really weird. these levels are different for everyone, for a variety of reasons, and have no moral dimension. and that is all.
All the eggs a woman will ever carry form in her ovaries while she is a four-month-old fetus in the womb of her mother. This means our cellular life as an egg begins in the womb of our grandmother. Each of us spent five months in our grandmother’s womb, and she in turn formed in the womb of her grandmother. We vibrate to the rhythm of our mother’s blood before she herself is born, and this pulse is the thread of blood that runs all the way back through the grandmothers to the first mother.
- Layne Redmond, When the Drummers were Women. Artwork by Amy Swagman.
This literally makes me scream
Gustav Klimt's Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer reimagined in biscuits, by Julia Timoshkova. The model is her daughter Antonina via womensart1 on twitter
The stars stand up behind the day. A known dove balances on its claw at the window. A cosmic incident of darkness has begun
& a mild excess of beauty will be offered to the dead, which they will eat. On a hill
the wise man serves the people, your thought splits in half when he speaks of the old revolts, the return of apocalypse, motive & advancement.
A soul can crouch a long time while the heart expands to reach its edges. What is missing past the glitter of the harvest?
Friend, you chose to live. How? You did. So many choices, not just two, encrypted behind the mystery of the sun,
then the hurt was set aside, indeterminate chaos called in by love.
Winter Song for One Who Suffers by Brenda Hillman
this collection is rewiring my brain — @arlenek
untitled