the facades of Hong Kong

ellievsbear
No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
AnasAbdin
h
No title available
sheepfilms

JBB: An Artblog!
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Misplaced Lens Cap
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
almost home
KIROKAZE
trying on a metaphor

blake kathryn

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
we're not kids anymore.
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
dirt enthusiast
seen from United States

seen from Czechia

seen from Bangladesh

seen from Türkiye

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Japan

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Bangladesh

seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from Germany
seen from Iceland

seen from Sri Lanka

seen from Singapore

seen from Malaysia

seen from United Kingdom
@letterkive
the facades of Hong Kong
Joy Sullivan, “Before”, Instructions for Traveling West
i love the feeling of getting “clearer” as you get older, like with each year there’s less room for messing around or pretending or playing a game with something you know deep in your heart is not right for you. it’s like your brain just gets better and better at cutting you off as you consider something and tells you “no that is not for me” before you can jump in. and it’s not as if things get more serious, but the opposite. you have freedom in giving yourself more and more permission to purposefully live life and go after whatever you want and to love freely knowing that things are secure in your heart and mind.. at least when i am struggling i know that the “clearing” is really what’s happening
Joy Sullivan, “Want", Instructions for Traveling West
Joy Sullivan, from “At the Airport”, Instructions for Traveling West
also a poem from the new, unreleased collection. very possibly my own all-time favourite.
Joy Sullivan, from “Almonds”, Instructions for Traveling West
a perfect meal i made
Old photo of my grandparents, when they were dating.
Joy Sullivan, from “These Days People Are Really Selling Me On California”, Instructions for Traveling West
Gerhard Richter, Clouds, 1978
—Paul Éluard
your eyes are literature; your lips are silence.
— and I, the hesitant reader, breathless before the unwritten. In your gaze I find chapters unwinding, not in order, not in peace. There are margins burned black with longing, footnotes of memory trailing into absence. You do not speak, and yet I am filled with your silence more than I have ever been filled with sound.
I think of what Marina Tsvetaeva once wrote: “I know the truth—give up all other truths! No need for people anywhere on earth. And these starry nights… no need for them either. There is only you.”
That is the madness you have made of me. To unlearn the world for a truth found in the curve of your silence.
There is a kind of cruelty in beauty, isn’t there? A sweetness too close to grief. Your hands once touched me like petals, and yet I carry the bruises of your absence like medals pinned under the skin. Love—true love—is never pristine. It bears the mark of being lived, broken open like a fruit too ripe, spilling into everything.
I remember when you first looked at me. Not like others look, but as if seeing was a wound. You left your gaze on me like a coat I could not take off. And now, even when you're not here, I wear it still.
Jean Genet wrote: “There is a certain glory in pain, a mysterious splendor that love reveals when it walks with its shadow.”
I know that splendor. I kiss it every night, when I dream of you returning—and fear that you might.
You made me understand that silence can scream. That the space between words is a kingdom of its own. That absence is not emptiness, but form—sharp, defined, heavy. And you are in every corner of it.
So I wait. Not for your voice, but for the rustle of pages—your eyes turning toward me again. The great novel you are, unfinished, dangerous, divine.
[ Paul Éluard (pseudonym of Eugène Émile Paul Grindel, 1895–1952) was a French poet among the most important of the 20th century, known for being a central figure of the Surrealist movement and for his political commitment, especially during the French Resistance against Nazism. ]
Suzanne Segal, Collision with the Infinite
Mohammed El-Kurd, “This Is Why We Dance” from Rifqa
Star cluster NGC 346 in the Small Magellanic Cloud ©
TRAMELL TILLMAN as SETH MILCHICK in Severance (season two).