I AM WORKING ON BEING KINDER WHEN I AM HURT.
the-poetic-boy / paige lewis / safia elhillo / nutnoce / jane rule / carole maso / anne carson, edit by heavensghost
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

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Janaina Medeiros
Stranger Things
almost home

JVL
cherry valley forever
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

@theartofmadeline
Peter Solarz

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RMH
hello vonnie
Cosmic Funnies

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣

shark vs the universe
DEAR READER

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Claire Keane

seen from Romania
seen from Malaysia

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
seen from Romania
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Romania

seen from Sweden

seen from Singapore

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
@eveningaches
I AM WORKING ON BEING KINDER WHEN I AM HURT.
the-poetic-boy / paige lewis / safia elhillo / nutnoce / jane rule / carole maso / anne carson, edit by heavensghost
https://evelionheart.medium.com/on-the-intimacy-of-the-mundane-863f9efb3c39
the statues of apollo and athena, at the academy athens, in a full moon night.
masao yamamoto / a box of ku F203 / 1990-2002
IN MY ARMS: embraces in art
Eva Antonini / Peter Wever / Holly Warburton / Alisher Kushakov / Salman Toor / Briony Marshall / Alisher Kushakov / Edvard Munch / Jurga Martin
What they don’t tell you about prolonged periods of introspection and careful observation is the harm that can come from being totally alone in that process, with no one to remind you that feeling, learning, watching, and healing are communal. When lonesome thought is fetishized, you feel obligated to suffer in silence, to see all struggles as individual rather than collective. You tell yourself that maybe you’re just growing apart from things you thought you knew, that you’re not doing healing right, and this must mean you’re just inadequate. And at some point, you obsess over this cultivated lifestyle of being quiet, small, and invisible as a means of personal protection that you feel forgotten about and in the end, you have no one but yourself to blame.
Sometimes I wish I could speak and write like I used to. But the more I see and interpret, the less I speak because I become increasingly aware of my own mental boundaries as well as the structural limitations I didn’t want to know existed. And the less I speak, the more I simply think myself into non-existence – or at least, what feels the closest to thinking but not really living.
What does it mean to be seen without desiring all of the accompanying narcissism that attaches itself to forms of recognition? I’ve been thinking and re-thinking the politics of recognition for almost exactly half of a year. Recognition is something so paradoxical to me, and thinking about it is bound to drive you to a point in your mental health where any mention of soap-bathing, bubble-blowing “self-care” rituals make you want to disappear a little more with each passing day. I wonder what it does to a person to ponder alienation in alienation for this long, in addition to all of the recognition rituals that compensate for it. My heart hurts just trying to wrap my mind around that.
I grabbed coffee with a friend I admire so much yesterday, and I asked her if she was feeling this way, too. She said something I knew to be true, but so desperately needed to hear and be reassured by: “Everyone is feeling this way. This feeling is political, not just personal. It permeates daily life and it’s only getting worse and worse.” And I can feel it all the way from Egypt to the United States, the two places I keep escaping for each other only to find myself retreating again for the other. The current global crisis in capital that is building up is wreaking havoc on so many of us in the most insidious ways imaginable. But even attempting to communicate this is difficult and frightening because alienation is so often strategically pathologized, misdiagnosed as “depression”, and written off as individual suffering. And so, we all suffer in silence.
IS THERE A RIGHT WAY TO EXIST ? (1) “Erasure Poem From Bone Thugs N Harmony’s Crossroads,” by Siaara Freeman // ( 3 & 6 ) Un Soplo de Vida by Clarice Lispector ( 1970 ) // (4) Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente ( 2011 ) // (7) // (8) A Hora Da Estrela by Clarice Lispector (1977)
Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score
The Moon, la Lune • old academic newspaper aesthetic
“Moonlight is sculpture; sunlight is painting.” - Nathaniel Hawthorne. Details of Abraham Pether’s night visions (1756-1812).
my dying words better be “im going ghost”
From point A to point B // Modest Mouse
a very sexy thing:
when the subtitles tells you the name of the song that’s playing
person: you’re pretty cool!
me: oh my god prepare to be very disappointed
i hate having to like…………….. articulate my ideas
#i literally just exist in an unintelligible mental state