May 7, 1925 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Three Goblin Art

oozey mess
trying on a metaphor
NASA
occasionally subtle

titsay
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
AnasAbdin

#extradirty
Cosmic Funnies
Keni
almost home
Acquired Stardust
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

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art blog(derogatory)

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@godcon
May 7, 1925 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]
A definitive list of my favourite Korean albums in no particular order
Kwon Ji Young - G-Dragon
Coup D’Etat - G-Dragon
One of a Kind - G-Dragon
130 Mood: TRBL - Dean
Hope World - J-Hope
And July - Heize
Ace - Taemin
D-Day - Agust D
Something New - Taeyeon
Remapping the Human Soul - Epik High
동그라미의꿈 (Circle’s Dream) - DALsooobin
CHAT-SHIRE - IU
Modern Times Epilogue - IU
Palette - IU
Television - Zico
O!RUL8,2? - BTS
Skool Luv Affair (Special) - BTS
Dark & Wild - BTS
The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Young Forever - BTS
You Never Walk Alone - BTS
Love Yourself: Answer - BTS
Map of the Soul: 7 - BTS
I am the angel who dwells in the point where lines fork. Whoever retraces the way of divided things encounters me, whoever descends to the bottom of contradictions runs into me, whoever mingles again what was separated feels my membraned wing brush his cheek!
Italo Calvino, The Castle of Crossed Destinies; from 'The Waverer's Tale', tr. William Weaver
J.H. Prynne, 'Thoughts on the Esterházy Court Uniform' (The White Stones, 1969)
to make up for the fact that it's me to make up for the fact that it's me to make up for the fact that it's me
The nearer trees were all autumn gold and the hulking evergreens that make my little skyline were dark behind them. There was the sound of birds and insects. It was dusk and the clouds were clumping up. I was fascinated by a plane taking off and wondered if it was close enough to hear it, then with the sound delay I was hearing it. No sooner had that wretched sound dissipated than the twinkling of raindrops hitting the pond started, so musical. It began to come down in earnest and all at once the insects stopped chirping. At first it was so fine and constant it completely mattified the pond. The ducks hurried to be near the water’s edge. Rain clouds thickened and became so dense they were almost purple. Then it was too dark to see the gold trees, but still light enough for the contrast of those unyielding evergreens.
Tiqqun, Preliminary Materials for a Theory of the Young-Girl
I could jerk off to any Rothko dead sober
how to be gentle with yourself when you have the curse
The birthday person has a new tattoo
*3 drinks in voice* you wanna test each other's pain tolerance?
My experience of Self is so dizzying I can hardly keep track of it. The numbing cold of consummate self loathing twists around the burning impulse to be witnessed and leaves me gasping for proof of my own significance or effect. All I can find to gulp down into my starving ego is more weakness, more desperation, more misanthropy. I come untethered. I curl up around the rot which I can sometimes abate but never entirely rid myself of. A throbbing, infected little wound that I favour more like a sprained limb. I make excuses. I refuse to walk on it. I stop doing my dishes. I find that I have never wanted anything. Certainly not enough to climb out of the hole, which resembles the grave but I am told is not. The tar around my ankles rises predictably as a tide pulled by hormones, small rejections, incomplete tasks - until I can no longer even walk to the tidy edges of the not-grave which I have worn down after many years making friends with the walls of it.
But if I tell you how my heart swings wide enough to motivate flirtations with the trees or how the happiness of passion freaks inside me, will you then believe the faithful, yearning freeze on random, fast explosions that I place upon my lust? Or must I say the streets are bare unless it is your door I face unless they are your eyes that, rare as tulips on a cold night, trick my mind to oranges and yellow flames around a seed as deep as anyone may find in magic? What do you need?
I’ll give you that, I hope, and more But don’t you be the one to choose me: poor.
Sunflower Sonnet Number One by June Jordan
Ghada Amer (Egyptian, 1963), Elohim, 2022. Acrylic, embroidery and gel medium on canvas, 101.6 x 121.9 cm.
Nicola Samorì (Italian, b. 1977, Forli, Emilia-Romagna, Italy, based Bagnacavallo, Province of Ravenna, Italy) - Cunea (detail), 2018, Sculpture: Black Carrara Marble
Saeed Jones, "Aretha Franklin Hears an Echo While Singing "Save Me", Alive at the End of the World
Yes! Finally the curse is broken! *reactivates it again immediately*