Enjoy your symptom!

We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thought. With our thoughts, we make our world.

[visual-poetry]

merry crisis and a happy new fear

[soundsnaked]

[deactivated-blog]

[enjoyyoursymptom]

As the summer approached, Mel and I had arranged to share an apartment in Venice, California, close to Muscle Beach Gym, where we could train. And evenings could be a strain. Mel liked being massaged and would lie naked face-down on his bed and ask me to massage his back. I would sit astride him, wearing my training shorts, and pour oil on his back. It would bring me to the brink of orgasm. On one occasion, I could not contain myself and came all over his back. I felt him suddenly stiffen when this happened, and without a word, he got up and had a shower. The next morning, Mel said tersely, "I have to find a place of my own." I felt desperately lonely and rejected when Mel moved out, and I wondered whether it was my fate to fall in love with straight men.

Oliver Sacks: His Own Life (2019)

[ofmiceandmenessay]

Ph. Grundvold -  Hotel Room in Vejle, Denmark

[slobbering]

“My solitude doesn’t depend on the presence or absence of people; on the contrary, I hate who steals my solitude without, in exchange, offering me true company.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche  (via wordsnquotes)

[thouartadeadthing]

[sometimes-now]

Some things are difficult to say with words @francesco_s

[loverofbeauty]

[colinquinn]

D’apres Edouard Manet’s “Le déjeuner sur l’herbe

[petrpetrpetr]

*

C.P. Cavafy Days of 1908

* He was out of work that year 

 so he lived off card games, 

 backgammon, and borrowed money. 

 He was offered a job at three pounds a month  

in a small stationery store, 

 but he turned it down without the slightest hesitation. 

 It wasn’t suitable. It wasn’t the right pay for him, 

 a reasonably educated young man, twenty-five years old. 

 He won two, maybe three dollars a day—sometimes. 

 How much could he expect to make out of cards and backgammon

 in the cafés of his social level, working-class places, 

 however cleverly he played, however stupid the opponents he chose? 

 His borrowing—that was even worse. 

 He rarely picked up a dollar, usually no more than half that, 

 and sometimes he had to come down to even less.

 For a week or so, sometimes longer, 

 when he managed to escape those horrible late nights, 

 he’d cool himself at the baths, and with a morning swim.

 His clothes were a terrible mess. 

 He always wore the same suit,

 a very faded cinnamon-brown suit. 

 O summer days of nineteen hundred and eight, 

 from your perspective 

the cinnamon-brown suit was tastefully excluded. 

 Your perspective has preserved him  

as he was when he took off, threw off, 

 those unworthy clothes, that mended underwear, 

 and stood stark naked, impeccably handsome, a miracle— 

 his hair uncombed, swept back, 

 his limbs a little tanned

 from his morning nakedness at the baths and on the beach.

(via petrpetrpetr)

[enjoyyoursymptom]

A poem by András Gerevich, translated from Hungarian by David Hill.

[nicholas-scarpinato]

🌾🌊 Floral Waves ✨ available in my print shop. Link in bio #landscape #waves #flowers #willrogersbeach #art #photography #photographer (at Will Rogers State Beach)

[imageray-deactivated20230606]

Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But, since no one was listening, everything must be said again.

André Gide (via imageray)

[stepstepby-blog]

via  Kanno Hisao

[mell0w-out]

[heraclesalcides-deactivated2024]

[enjoyyoursymptom]