Heavenly Sight

[oys7er]

faye wong for 'decadent sounds of faye’ photoset (1995)

[chandelyer-deactivated20241003]

“With a slip of the moon in her hair,”

— Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “Jacob’s Room,” wr. c. 1922 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[alchemicalcodes]

Anaïs Nin

[kosmogrl]

everything is changing and maybe that’s okay

[kosmogrl]

as you get older you realise that anything that helps you stop feeling stuck is welcome even if it hurts at first

[heavensickness]

obsessed. also makes sense when you remember than butterflies drink blood

[dearorpheus]

[theoptia]

“By going ever deeper into myself I became many.”

— Fernando Pessoa, from The Book of Disquiet

[onetwofeb]

“I live a living death, my flesh is wounded, bleeding, cadaverized, my rhythm slowed down or interrupted, time has been erased or bloated, absorbed into sorrow… Absent from other people’s meaning, alien, accidental with respect to naïve happiness. I owe a supreme, metaphysical lucidity to my depression. On the frontiers of life and death, occasionally I have the arrogant feeling of being witness to the meaningless of Being, of revealing the absurdity of bonds and being. My pain is the hidden side of my philosophy, its mute sister.”

— Julia Kristeva, in Black Sun: Depression and Melancholia (via minima–moralia)

[weltenwellen]

Wildness Before Something Sublime Leila Chatti

[the-dauphine]

“The most precious thing is vitality – not in any sinister Lawrentian sense, but just the will + energy + appetite to do what one wants to do + not to be ‘sunk’ by disappointments. Aristotle is right: happiness is not to be aimed at; it is a by-product of activity aimed at.”

— Susan Sontag, Reborn: Journals and Notebooks 1947—1963  (via sartreuse)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Chuck Palahniuk, oof

[mourningpain-deactivated2025111]

Clarice Lispector from "An Apprenticeship or The Book of Pleasures"

[funeral]

Accepting the reality that there is no cure for our existential malaise keeps us from wasting our life in chasing the untenable goal of healing our lack. That is, accepting the lack of a definitive cure allows us to direct our attention to endeavors over which we have some control; it frees us to pursue modalities of living that are both realistically attainable and potentially even rewarding—gratifying despite being imperfect. Unfortunately, because the mundane objects that contain the objet a are by necessity mere pale imitations of the Thing-in-itself, it can take prolonged mourning to reconcile ourselves to the reality that these imitations, these faint echoes of the Thing, are the only portion of the Thing that will ever be available to us. Yet I believe that those of us who have managed to make peace with this reality possess the best chances for fashioning a life that feels both rewarding and dynamic.

Mari Ruti, “When the Cure Is that There Is No Cure: Melancholia, Mourning, Creativity” in Meaningless Suffering: Traumatic Marginalisation and Ethical Responsibility

[weltenwellen]

bell hooks, All About Love

[kitchen-light]

“As you continually generate the transparency of flowing space, it must continually unfold matter that shines.”

— Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge, from her poem “Star Beings” (from the collection, “A Treatise on Stars”, New Directions, 2020)

[rifles]

Sans Soleil - Chris Marker - 1983

[gacougnol]

Gabriela Marin

[fragrantblossoms]

Jonas Mekas. Flowers [32/40], 1968-2017.

https://jonasmekas.com