as heavy as a sleeping child

j. borromeo, 21, pilipinas

[tryclops]

The Elderly Gay Filipinos Who Perform in Drag to Survive

For Manila's Golden Gays, drag is both a means of survival and a glimmer of hope.

hey so this is kind of heart-breaking

[oddfilmstills]

contracted (2013)

[shellperfume]

[mesogeios]

Amira Casar

[filmstruck]

PRO TIP: Pre-game awkward family interactions this Thanksgiving with a helping of Bergman’s AUTUMN SONATA (‘78) first

[gazanarchive]

Marx’s letter to his wife Jenny.

Manchester, June 21, 1865 My heart’s beloved: I am writing you again, because I am alone and because it troubles me always to have a dialogue with you in my head, without your knowing anything about it or hearing it or being able to answer… Momentary absence is good, for in constant presence things seem too much alike to be differentiated. Proximity dwarfs even towers, while the petty and the commonplace, at close view, grow too big. Small habits, which may physically irritate and take on emotional form, disappear when the immediate object is removed from the eye. Great passions, which through proximity assume the form of petty routine, grow and again take on their natural dimension on account of the magic of distance. So it is with my love. You have only to be snatched away from me even in a mere dream, and I know immediately that the time has only served, as do sun and rain for plants, for growth. The moment you are absent, my love for you shows itself to be what it is, a giant, in which are crowded together all the energy of my spirit and all the character of my heart. It makes me feel like a man again, because I feel a great passion; and the multifariousness, in which study and modern education entangle us, and the scepticism which necessarily makes us find fault with all subjective and objective impressions, all of these are entirely designed to make us all small and weak and whining. But love - not love for the Feuerbach-type of man, not for the metabolism, not for the proletariat - but the love for the beloved and particularly for you, makes a man again a man… There are many females in the world, and some among them are beautiful. But where could I find again a face, whose every feature, even every wrinkle, is a reminder of the greatest and sweetest memories of my life? Even my endless pains, my irreplaceable losses I read in your sweet countenance, and I kiss away the pain when I kiss your sweet face… Good-bye, my sweetheart. I kiss you and the children many thousand times. Yours,

Karl

[greek-highlights]

Cape Sounio, Attica ,Greece The temple of Poseidon

[schopenhauerquotes]

The only freedom that exists is of a metaphysical character. In the physical world freedom is an impossibility. Accordingly, while our several actions are in no wise free, every man’s individual character is to be regarded as a free act. He is such and such a man, because once for all it is his will to be that man. For the will itself, and in itself, and also in so far as it is manifest in an individual, and accordingly constitutes the original and fundamental desires of that individual, is independent of all knowledge, because it is antecedent to such knowledge. All that it receives from knowledge is the series of motives by which it successively develops its nature and makes itself cognisable or visible; but the will itself, as something that lies beyond time, and so long as it exists at all, never changes.  Therefore every man, being what he is and placed in the circumstances which for the moment obtain, but which on their part also arise by strict necessity, can absolutely never do anything else than just what at that moment he does do. Accordingly, the whole course of a man’s life, in all its incidents great and small, is as necessarily predetermined as the course of a clock.

Arthur Schopenhauer, On Human Nature (via schopenhauerquotes)

[penamor]

Lemony Snicket’s “About the Author” pages

[mortalpractice]

we lie in bed like a mess that someone’s been meaning to clean for the large part of a long while we lie there like a pile of dirty laundry and how we’ll ever come clean is beyond me so we don’t she says it’s supposed to be dirty and if by the end you haven’t hurt me then you didn’t try —Shane Koyczan, from “My Darling Sara,” Visiting Hours

[metaphorformetaphor]

No, there’s no dream of happiness that in the end doesn’t bite its own tail.

Hjalmar Söderberg, from Doctor Glas (Anchor, 2002; first published 1905)

[thecartierrug]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

Her hands devote themselves To sheltering a flame;

Philip Larkin, from “Portrait,” The Complete Poems, ed. Archie Burnett (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2012)

[seiitchi]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

The more she loved a boy, the more reasons there were not to touch him. The price of knowing he would be there for her to touch was her not touching him.

Anna-Marie McLemore, from Wild Beauty (Feiwel and Friends, 2017)

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

a-quiet-green-agreement:

“But once in a while came a moment when everything seemed to have something to say to you.“

Alice Munro, from “Jakarta,” The Love of a Good Woman: Stories (Alfred A. Knopf, 1998)

[schopenhauerquotes]

Every human face is a hieroglyphic, which admits of being deciphered, the alphabet of which we carry about with us already perfected. As a matter of fact, the face of a man gives us a fuller and more interesting information than his tongue; for his face is the compendium of all he will ever say, as it is the one record of all his thoughts and endeavors. And, moreover, the tongue tells the thought of one man only, whereas the face expresses a thought of nature itself: so that everyone is worth attentive observation, even though everyone may not be worth talking to.

Arthur Schopenhauer, On Physiognomy (via schopenhauerquotes)

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

It is wonderful to watch you, A living woman in a room Full of frantic, sterile people, And think of your arching buttocks Under your velvet evening dress, And the beautiful fire spreading From your sex, burning flesh and bone, The unbelievably complex Tissues of your brain all alive Under your coiling, splendid hair.

Kenneth Rexroth, from “Between Myself and Death,” The Complete Poems of Kenneth Rexroth, eds. Sam Hamill & Bradford Morrow (Copper Canyon Press, 2004)