¥ DEVON ¥

[kafkasapartment]

Precariousness (after Robert Motherwell), 2005. Gilbert Garcin.  Gelatin silver

[aquaticambience]

“あなたはあたしの肉体を素通りしただけ。二度会うことはないわ。 (You only passed through my flesh. We’ll never meet again.)”

—

あんざいゆりこ (女優 岡田茉莉子) 樹氷のよろめき // 1968 // 監督 吉田喜重

Anzai Yuriko (Okada Mariko) Affair in the Snow // dir. Yoshida Kijû

[darksilenceinsuburbia]

Kimio Tsuchiya: Symptom, 1970. Stone, wood and Spiral jetty.  

website

[deadbutbetter]

“The only hope, or else despair / Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre– / To be redeemed from fire by fire. […] / We only live, only suspire / Consumed by either fire or fire.”

— T.S. Eliot, from The Complete Poems And Plays: 1909 - 1950: “The Little Gidding,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[firstfullmoon]

Forfeit my eyes, I want to turn away  from the hair on the floor of his house  & how it got there Monday,  but my one heart falls  like a sad, fat persimmon  dropped by the hand of the Turczyn’s old tree.  I want to sleep. I do not want to sleep. See,  one day, not today, not now, we will be gone  from this earth where we know the gladiolas.

— Aracelis Girmay, from “Kingdom Animalia,” in Kingdom Animalia

[02decay]

[artist-francis-bacon]

The Crucifixion, 1933, Francis Bacon

[lifeinpoetry]

i don’t take the rain seriously except on days when my own pulse shakes my face into a sob

— Dylan Krieger, from “evolution’s anthem,” Soft-Focus Slaughterhouse

[bvck-barnes]

““I’m lonely,” he says aloud, and the silence of the apartment absorbs the words like blood soaking into cotton. He is so lonely that he sometimes feels it physically, a sodden clump of dirty laundry pressing against his chest. He cannot unlearn the feeling.”

— A Little Life, Hanya Yanagihara (via juderagnarsson)

[creativespark]

Roman Valynkin

[voirlvmer]

Unhook your body from its fear of this vastness, this dream of the sea where clouds shift their bone map, erase your footsteps again and again. Here, where the land is a form of water, all freezes to light. Even you.

— Sara Eliza Johnson, from “Instructions for Wintering on the Ice Field”, Bone Map

[voirlvmer]

In the body, all things

have an end. I can’t yet know how it is to enter morning & be left

with myself—every story I’ve known carried off like tree pollen

in the white spring wind.

Chelsea Dingman, from “How Briefly the Body”, Through a Small Ghost

[flowerytale]

Fernando Pessoa ― The Book of Disquiet

[mythologyofblue]

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you.

-David Whyte, The House of Belonging    

[europeansculpture]

Reinhoud (1928-2007) - Migraine (huitième), 1968

Plomb cuivré

[be4body]

[exitwound]

perfume genius in conversation with jia tolentino (in bold) for the new yorker