tender diary

all this beauty: you might have to close your eyes and slowly open wide

[gacougnol]

Garcia Mounstruilio.

[1five1two]

'Love Letter'. Rebeca Fleur. 2025.

[frrenzetic]

[fashion-runways]

LWENX Couture Dress 2024 if you want to support this blog consider donating to: ko-fi.com/fashionrunways

[gacougnol]

Donna Gottschalk

Self-portrait with JEB, E. 9th Street, New York, 1970

[aidashakur]

Clarity often feels like grief because it removes what you were still hoping for.

[staringatcandles]

ancestral power is primordial. there is a worship in your blood and bones that predates you. walk with your head high and your core strong.

[89rooms]

And nothing feels more like life than desire. Everyone knows it; the surge in the blood, cocaine-highs without the white powder. Desire is shamanistic, trance-like, ecstatic.

Jeanette Winterson - ‘Desire’

[89rooms]

I thought, briefly, that I would never feel as intensely connected to the world, to another human being, as I did at that moment.

Jojo Moyes - 'Me Before You'

[89rooms]

He had a special fondness for the moving parts of women, their wrists, their butterfly-shaped ankles, their shoulder blades like a swan’s folded wings. In particular he treasured their knees, especially the back of them, where the skin was pale, milk-blue, with delicate fissures, little fine cracks, as in the most fragile old pieces of bone china.

John Banville - 'April in Spain'

[gacougnol]

Pedro Luis Raota (Argentinian, 1934 - 1986)

How come, mother?, 1970s

[theartistandthephotographer]

[metaphorformetaphor]

Neruda’s writing space in Chile, from Pablo Neruda Absence and Presence by Alastair Reid.

[le-bronzage-est-delicieux]

SONOLUMINESCENCE

[coloredshadow]

Jil Sander, Summer Project 2019 by Larissa Hofmann

[seemoreandmore]

Don’t take it personal, they said;

but I did, I took it all quite personal—

the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;

the price of grapefruit and stamps,

the wet hair of women in the rain—

And I cursed what hurt me

and I praised what gave me joy,

the most simple-minded of possible responses.

The government reminded me of my father,

with its deafness and its laws,

and the weather reminded me of my mom,

with her tropical squalls.

Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness

Think first, they said of Talk

Get over it, they said

at the School of Broken Hearts

but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t

believe in the clean break;

I believe in the compound fracture

served with a sauce of dirty regret,

I believe in saying it all

and taking it all back

and saying it again for good measure

while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries

like wheeling birds

and the trees look seasick in the wind.

Oh life.. Can you blame me for making a scene?

You were that yellow caboose, the moon

disappearing over a ridge of cloud.

I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;

barking and barking:

trying to convince everything else

to take it personal too.

- Personal, by Tony Hoagland

[browndresswithwhitedots]

Helen Boucher