From The Female Man by Joanna Russ (1975).
Mike Driver

JVL
The Stonewall Inn

Product Placement
$LAYYYTER
EXPECTATIONS

ellievsbear
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
official daine visual archive
Keni
Not today Justin
taylor price
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tannertan36
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Stranger Things
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Misplaced Lens Cap

roma★

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@godcon
From The Female Man by Joanna Russ (1975).
Katsushika Hokusai 葛飾 北斎, Two bats flying, c. 1830-50
more
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i found this in a screenshot on facebook and reverse image search didn’t work so i screenshotted the screenshot and then upped the shadows and contrast and exposure and but the brightness down so the screenshot was legible and then used apple photos to copy the text and I googled the text and found that someone reblogged a dramatic reading but to see the post you have to get a tumbler so i downloaded tumblr and i forgot my account so after trying to get into it i made a new account so therefore i found this post all to say that this made me FEEL something.
thank you
Happy more than one year anniversary to this person who had to jump through a dozen hoops to find an original text post on internet after it was reuploaded in several different formats (I made it worse by having a blog you have to have a tumblr to view)
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.