@homegoingss - Tumblr Blog

snoozingbear

david wojnarowicz | close to the knives: a memoir of disintegration

mollyyoung

eve-is-obsessulated

this is destroying me (Pyre House by Lev St Valentine @dogrotpdf)

boykeats

[ID: poem text highlighted in yellow reading,

"Imagine a place we can be together again & call it something strange, call it the past. You reach up, pick the first blackberries of August off the nearest tree while I am counting on my fingers the number of ways I know how to die. Put the knife down, you'll say. Kill yourself tomorrow if you must. This moment is for blackberries."

/end ID]

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Hello,

I hope you’re all doing well. 🌿

I need your help to share my family's story and raise awareness about our struggle. Every voice counts, and your support means the world. 🙏

💬 Please reblog my pinned post or, if you're able, consider donating just $5—it could be life-changing for those facing unimaginable hardship.

Your kindness and solidarity make a real difference. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🤍✨

@aboodfmly

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likeahauntingmelody

before sunrise (1995)

389

Are You Coming? - Trina Teoh

sonatine

Fran Lebowitz on writing

funeral

Sometimes the world is unreal (I utter it differently), sometimes it is disreal (I utter it with only the greatest difficulty if at all). This is not (it is said) the same withdrawal from reality. In the first case, my rejection of reality is pronounced through a fantasy: everything around me changes value in relation to a function, which is the Image-repertoire; the lover then cuts himself off from the world, he unrealizes it because he hallucinates from another aspect the peripeteias or the utopias of his love; he surrenders himself to the Image, in relation to which all “reality" disturbs him. In the second case, I also lose reality, but no imaginary substitution will compensate me for this loss . . . I am not “dreaming” (even of the other); I am not even in the Image-repertoire any longer. Everything is frozen, petrified, immutable, i.e., unsubstitutable: the Image repertoire is (temporarily) foreclosed. In the first moment I am neurotic, I unrealize; in the second, I am psychotic, crazy, I disrealize.

Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse