Daughter of Tyche

A pansexual métis's place to let my dreamscape out a little. Art, myth, sex and history.

[the-final-sentence]

The foam of heaven, you know, is not that different from the foam seething at the water’s edge.

Debra Cash, from “The Mermaid Sets the Record Straight” (via the-final-sentence)

[twirld]

Bathsheba (detail) Francesco Hayez

[andyoucallmeupagain]

Educate yourself

[qvotext]

(source: qvotext on instagram)

[ghoulnextdoor]

Sirens by Mateus Roberts

[futw]

Disobedience (2018)

[unathingada]

“I spent my life folded between the pages of books.

In the absence of human relationships I formed bonds with paper characters. I lived love and loss through stories threaded in history; I experienced adolescence by association. My world is one interwoven web of words, stringing limb to limb, bone to sinew, thoughts and images all together. I am a being comprised of letters, a character created by sentences, a figment of imagination formed through fiction.” - Tahereh Mafi, 

[pradoxo-deactivated20190505]

[lezandblessed]

△▽△

[iloveyousincethefirstlook]

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath; “Stings,” written c. October 1962 (x)

[daughteroftyche]

New Impossibly Intricate Embroideries by Chloe Giordano

We continue to be enthralled by the work of Chloe Giordano (previously here and here) who produces everything from tiny coin-sized depictions of woodland creatures to entire book covers typography and all. The Oxford-based illustrator is entirely self-taught, learning her craft "through a lot of try

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

You have to really be broken in order to be a poet. It’s a very bad thing to tell a young person, but it’s true. Poetry comes out of all the places where you break.

Alice Notley, from an interview conducted c. October 2015 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[daughteroftyche]

It’s neither red nor sweet. It doesn’t melt or turn over, break or harden, so it can’t feel pain, yearning, regret. It doesn’t have  a tip to spin on, it isn’t even shapely— just a thick clutch of muscle, lopsided, mute. Still, I feel it inside its cage sounding a dull tattoo: I want, I want— but I can’t open it: there’s no key. I can’t wear it on my sleeve, or tell you from the bottom of it how I feel. Here, it’s all yours, now— but you’ll have to take me, too.

Heart to Heart, Rita Dove

[daughteroftyche]

[daughteroftyche]

The best part is when we’re tired of it all in the same degree, a fatigue we imagine to be temporary, and we lie near each other, toes touching. What’s done is done, we don’t say, to begin our transaction, each letting go of something without really bringing it to mind until we’re lighter, sicker, older and a current runs between us where our toes touch. It feels unconditional.     2 Remember this, we don't say: The Little Mermaid was able to absorb her tail, refashion it to form legs. This meant that everything’s negotiable and that everything is played out in advance in secret.

Negotiations, Rae Armantrout

[daughteroftyche]

What to do with this knowledge  that our living is not guaranteed? Perhaps one day you touch the young branch  of something beautiful. & it grows & grows  despite your birthdays & the death certificate,  & it one day shades the heads of something beautiful  or makes itself useful to the nest. Walk out  of your house, then, believing in this.  Nothing else matters. All above us is the touching  of strangers & parrots,  some of them human,  some of them not human. Listen to me. I am telling you a true thing. This is the only kingdom. The kingdom of touching; the touches of the disappearing, things.

Elegy,  ARACELIS GIRMAY

[japan-overload]

by  yamauchi