heart of glass @coeurhante - Tumblr Blog

the-evil-clergyman

Odalisque by Delphin Enjolras (19th Century)

poboh

The portico of dreams, Gaston Bogaert (1918 - 2008) - Oil on Panel -

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catonhottinroof-deactivated2023

Carl Wagner (1796 - 1867)

A Moonlit Night, 1820

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‘The Song of Songs’. Eric Gill. 1925.

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This incredibly colorful fluffy bird is called a white-browed tit-warbler (by Hiuying Tse).

wonderlartcafe

Nakajima Soyo, 1928

lovingsylvia

Lady Lazarus

I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it– A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right foot A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen. Peel off the napkin O my enemy. Do I terrify?– The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath Will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die. This is Number Three. What a trash To annihilate each decade. What a million filaments. The peanut-crunching crowd Shoves in to see Them unwrap me hand and foot– The big strip tease. Gentlemen, ladies These are my hands My knees. I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant To last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut As a seashell. They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls. Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call. It’s easy enough to do it in a cell. It’s easy enough to do it and stay put. It’s the theatrical Comeback in broad day To the same place, the same face, the same brute Amused shout: ‘A miracle!’ That knocks me out. There is a charge For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge For the hearing of my heart– It really goes. And there is a charge, a very large charge For a word or a touch Or a bit of blood Or a piece of my hair or my clothes. So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy. I am your opus, I am your valuable, The pure gold baby That melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern. Ash, ash– You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there– A cake of soap, A wedding ring, A gold filling. Herr God, Herr Lucifer Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

written 23-29 October 1962

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(via Western Long-eared Myotis Myotis Evotis by Michael Durham)

barnsburntdownnow

Tenman Shrine, Kameido, from the series One Hundred Views of Musashi Province Kobayashi Kiyochika (1847-1915) Japanese; Meiji period, 1884 Ukiyo-e woodblock print in vertical ōban format; ink and color on paper.