julyinterrupted

too weird to live

[julyinterrupted]

Somewhere between fear and sex passion is. Passion is not so much an emotion as a destiny. What choice have I in the face of this wind but to put up sail and rest my oars?

The Passion, Jeanette Winterson

[julyinterrupted]

To kiss well one must kiss solely. No groping hands or stammering hearts. The lips and the lips alone are the pleasure. Passion is sweeter split strand by strand. Divided and re-divided like mercury then gathered up only at the last moment.

The Passion, Jeanette Winterson

[julyinterrupted]

Pleasure on the edge of danger is sweet. It's the gambler's sense of losing that makes the winning an act of love.

The Passion, Jeanette Winterson

[julyinterrupted]

We fear passion and laugh at too much love and those who love too much. And still we long to feel.

The Passion, Jeanette Winterson

[julyinterrupted]

My passion for her, even though she could never return it, showed me the difference between inventing a lover and falling in love. The one is about you, the other about someone else.

The Passion, Jeanette Winterson

[julyinterrupted]

I say I'm in love with her, what does that mean? It means I review my future and my past in the light of this feeling. It is as though I wrote in a foreign language that I am suddenly able to read. Wordlessly she explains me to myself; like genius she is ignorant of what she does.

The Passion, Jeanette Winterson

[julyinterrupted]

New recruits cry when they come here and they think about their mothers and their sweethearts and they think about going home. They remember what it is about home that holds their hearts not sentiment or show but faces they love.

Most of these recruits aren't seventeen and they're asked to do in a few weeks what vexes the best philosophers for a lifetime; that is, to gather up their passion for life and make sense of it in the face of death. They don't know how but they do know how to forget, and little by little they put aside the burning summer in their bodies and all they have instead is lust and rage.

The Passion, Jeanette Winterson

[februarytrash]

Today was so perfect. We went to battery park to watch the sunset. It’s was so beautiful . I brought a huge bottle of ume sho. After sunset we took the carousel. Then we went to the restroom at the ferry terminal. There’s a girl singing “my heart will go on” and we were dancing to it. And we bought soju, went to a soccer field. The girls were doing cartwheel. I never learned how to do it. Then we got champagne. Days like this make me feel happy living. But when I got home my eyes were so watery. I didn’t want to cry at all. Idk why this happened. I have sensitive eyes.

[februarytrash]

At the beach reading Violet Bent Backwards Over the Grass. When I get to a line I really like. I write it on the sand with the tip of my finger nail.

[februarytrash]

I’d love to believe that you put a spell on me. If not I might just be schizophrenic. So I hope you’ve put a spell on me…

[februarytrash]

Second-hand Birkin

Conceptual installation by Joi

PVC, epoxy sheets

Documentation of process

[julyinterrupted]

it was cloudy and you were dropping me off at the hospital. you put your car into reverse on accident and swore loudly. eyes fixed upon mine with a flash of sudden shame at the way i started at your outburst, silently mouthing an apology. typically so soft spoken, loud with ink splatters and music that reverberated through the ground; i saw you cry for the first time, quiet and bitter, when you shaved your head. it grew back dark but unkempt.

when i finally came out through sterile sliding doors bandaged and so weak i felt effervescently high, i was shocked to see your car still at the curb; i bawled with such force that i wrung every last tear out of my desiccated teetering body. you waited for me. four words i’ve only ever formed with quivering breath. you never smiled fully and only ever with the right side of your mouth, and you slept on the floor by my bed for a week after, and you held my hair back when i filled out and nearly weighed a hundred pounds. a triple digit weight is a death sentence to a girl so you strummed my broken ukulele as we sat, sprawled out on the bathroom floor, until i laughed.

you would always run the edges of your nails down my forearm and the last time i saw you it was nothing short of betrayal; we argued and you rifled through my journals when i slept, and i watched the horizon recede as you stood brazen against the skyline, mouth firmly set.

[julyinterrupted]

just thoughts

almost cried on the drive home. life is finally starting to feel familiar again.

a house is a place you grow accustomed to, but a home is familiar and it’s been ages since i’ve had a home.

home smells clean, like soap and open windows and sunlit cotton, and i never forgot the scent of your clothes the first time we kissed. it lingered on my skin like a childhood in the dirt; for years i prayed to God i could feel safe someplace and now i sit in the still.

[julyinterrupted]

You are so beautiful it knocks the wind out of me every day and I don't know how I ever lived before you strung my sky.

[julyinterrupted]

There's something so incomprehensibly shameful about being so well-cared for, and yet so fundamentally unloved in every walk of life.

[julyinterrupted]

the first time my mother told me to be sexier, i was 8, and i knew then i didn’t ever want to become a woman. it was always, take off your glasses, stand straight and arch your back, get your way. and sure those things came naturally with growing up, but in the process i lost my own body in weight and autonomy. like maybe a fifteen year old girl shouldn’t sneak alcohol and wrestle with boys she grew up with but is it solely because she’s an almost-woman? woman enough to be pinned down in the back of a sedan sobbing but i’d never even been above a hundred pounds at that age because i was so scared of developing into a body of the lesser sex, ready to be grown but just not physically and the world laughed in my face, and forced me to look my age in the eye.

[julyinterrupted]

on womanhood

the first time my mother told me to be sexier, i was 8, and i knew then i didn’t ever want to become a woman. it was always, take off your glasses, stand straight and arch your back, get your way. and sure those things came naturally with growing up, but in the process i lost my own body in weight and autonomy. like maybe a fifteen year old girl shouldn’t sneak alcohol and wrestle with boys she grew up with but is it solely because she’s an almost-woman? woman enough to be pinned down in the back of a sedan sobbing but i’d never even been above a hundred pounds at that age because i was so scared of developing into a body of the lesser sex, ready to be grown but just not physically and the world laughed in my face, and forced me to look my age in the eye.