hell is other people

ellievsbear
The Stonewall Inn

Andulka
NASA

titsay

#extradirty
official daine visual archive

bliss lane

Kiana Khansmith
occasionally subtle
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
The Bowery Presents

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🩵 avery cochrane 🩵

gracie abrams
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sheepfilms

Discoholic 🪩

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Claire Keane

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@c-almx
hell is other people
Most of the time, we don’t just need answers. We need language for the ache. Words for the suffering. That’s what art gives us. That’s why poetry, paintings, essays, stories and songs are so powerful. Art doesn’t just give us solutions. It gives us a place to stand. And a way of making sense of the world around us.
D'ailleurs, si j't'en fais une, non, c'est pas qu'j'ai des sentiments
C'est juste que j'aime ta fleur, j'voudrais qu'on passe un bon moment
Nunca a vida foi tão atual como hoje: por um triz é o futuro. Tempo para mim significa a desagregação da matéria. O apodrecimento do que é orgânico como se o tempo tivesse como um verme dentro de um fruto e fosse roubando a este fruto toda a sua polpa. O tempo não existe. O que chamamos de tempo é o movimento de evolução das coisas, mas o tempo em si não existe. Ou existe imutável e nele nos transladamos. O tempo passa depressa demais e a vida é tão curta. Então — para que eu não seja engolido pela voracidade das horas e pelas novidades que fazem o tempo passar depressa — eu cultivo um certo tédio. Degusto assim cada detestável minuto. E cultivo também o vazio silêncio da eternidade da espécie.
Clarice Lispector, in: Um sopro de vida
the coldest people are usually the ones who once cared without limits
on fathers.
Gustave Caillebotte (1848-1894, French) ~ Parterre de marguerites, 1893 ~detail~
[Source: mdig.fr]
Vício antigo de encarar o céu à noite e sentir que o peito pertence mais ao infinito do que ao chão.
Caio Araújo
Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet
Anne of Green Gables (1979)
"O que você não tem mais que te entristece tanto?"
- A natureza da mordida
Charles Dickens, Great Expectations - Chapter XXXII
I was busy with my books…
— Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
There is something so incredibly tender about walking through a bookstore or a museum and stopping in a section you usually breeze past, just because the person you love loves it. Suddenly, a specific genre of sci-fi or a niche era of art history isn't just "a thing"—it’s a map of their mind. You’re standing there looking at a shelf, thinking, oh, they would lose their mind over this. Your brain permanently reserves a little room for their joy, and I think that’s so beautiful.
I have so much faith that everything will work out for me, everything that is meant to find me will find me and what is meant to teach me will teach me.