d e s

[tunisian]

i spend my days waiting. waiting for the water to boil and my tea to be ready. for spring to come back. for more daylight. the oil in the pan to heat up. a “hey i miss you” or “can you help me out for a second?” or “you want to hang out?” text. for my phone to finish charging. for good news. flowers on the table. the next hug. “hey, you got the job!”. waiting for the sun. to set. to rise. to see both. for summer to be around the corner. a good song. a falling star. a text back. i spend my time waiting to be remembered. i spend my time repeating that tomorrow will be better. tomorrow will be better. i spend my days waiting and waiting and waiting. i spend my days waiting unbearably.

[soracities]

“I was aware of a gathering anxiety around the question of visibility. I wanted to be seen, taken in and accepted, the way one is by a lover’s approving gaze. At the same time I felt dangerously exposed, wary of judgement, particularly in situations where being alone felt awkward or wrong, where I was surrounded by couples or groups.”

— Olivia Laing, The Lonely City

[soracities]

“What did I want? What was I looking for? What was I doing there, hour after hour? Contradictory things. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to be stimulated. I wanted to be in contact and I wanted to retain my privacy, my private space. I wanted to click and click and click until my synapses exploded, until I was flooded by superfluity. I wanted to hypnotize myself with data, with coloured pixels, to become vacant, to overwhelm any creeping anxious sense of who I actually was, to annihilate my feelings. At the same time I wanted to wake up, to be politically and socially engaged. And then again I wanted to declare my presence, to list my interests and objections, to notify the world that I was still there, thinking with my fingers, even if I’d almost lost the art of speech. I wanted to look and I wanted to be seen, and somehow it was easier to do both via the mediating screen.”

— Olivia Laing, The Lonely City

[fungusamongusblog2]

[soracities]

“Loneliness is personal, and it is also political. Loneliness is collective; it is a city. As to how to inhabit it, there are no rules and nor is there any need to feel shame, only to remember that the pursuit of individual happiness does not trump or excuse our obligations to each another. We are in this together, this accumulation of scars, this world of objects, this physical and temporary heaven that so often takes on the countenance of hell.”

— Olivia Laing, The Lonely City

[teenagedirtstache]

[jumex]

Nothings changed

[des-marchelier]

you haunt my dreams

[thunderstruck9]

Cristian Avram (Romanian, 1994), Witching hour, 2022. Oil on canvas, 150 x 118 cm.

[polkadotmotmot]

Lukas Janitsch - Big Bird, 2022

[weepingwidar]

Lukas Janitsch (Austrian, 1989)

[zegalba]

Toru Kogure for Takashi Tanabe (1982)

[2001hz]

Björk (1996) Photographed By: François Gailland

[distantvoices]

Din Din by Zhong Lin for MilkX Taiwan

[birdcagewalk]

Photo: Jono Parker

[knowtheswag]

Wrap Around

[rubiesandhoney]

[lustingupon]

@glenn.ban 

[dark-romantics]

The other day, lying in bed, I felt my heart beating for the first time in a long while. I realized how little I live in my body, how much in my mind.

Rodger Kamenetz, from Terra Infirma (University of Arkansas Press, 1985)

[lustingupon]

@rum_id