i hope you’ll feel lighter soon
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
Three Goblin Art
Not today Justin

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

@theartofmadeline
dirt enthusiast
ojovivo

No title available

No title available
we're not kids anymore.
art blog(derogatory)
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

oozey mess
Claire Keane
No title available
cherry valley forever

shark vs the universe
taylor price
seen from United States

seen from Iraq
seen from Türkiye
seen from Sweden

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Argentina

seen from Singapore

seen from Morocco
seen from Kenya

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@loveinallcolors
i hope you’ll feel lighter soon
healing series 31.08.2019
“James Baldwin writes about suffering in the healing process, stating: “I do not mean to be sentimental about suffering—but people who cannot suffer can never grow up, can never discover who they are.” Growing up is, at heart, the process of learning to take responsibility for whatever happens in your life. To choose growth is to embrace a love that heals.”
— bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions
Devour
hey can i tell you a secret? i was really bad at chess. and the person who was teaching me would let me get pretty far into the game, because it helped me see how long a mistake could echo into the little frames of a space.
i was kissing you then. you had your head tilted up against my wall because i hadn't gotten a bedframe yet and i was sleeping on the mattress on the floor and it was hurting my back like how my back still-hurts now. i told you i'd kiss him but i can't because it'd ruin our friendship but you and i were friends that kissed. i just liked the size of his hands and how he'd let me fuck up so badly at chess.
can i tell you a secret? i haven't been writing, ever since you turned around and walked out. i was holding a paint can when i found out. i wish i had dropped it and it had splashed dramatically all over the floor and swished green onto the walls and over my hands and over everything but. i set it down as gently as you're supposed to set down paint and i marveled for a second at the indented parabola it left in my palm and how gosh isn't it funny that things always get heavier closer to the floor?
hey can i tell you a secret - this one is a really big secret so watch out. okay. so. i forgot where we buried our dogs. i know they're in the back yard. i don't remember because i didn't help the burial process and i need to feel something physically in order to remember it.
you said once your hair was a color they never put into poetry. fucked up that at one point i heard something inside of me say she'll play you like a bow string. ha! that felt ominous! you and i were friends-that-kissed. fucked up that we all have pictures together of us dancing, and in them, we are all laughing, and the secret that was between us wasn't wrapped up in the pixels of the thing. fucked up the secret was just a question neither of us addressed - are you sure you're really just-friends?
how odd, to be kept. there are many things i've written about wanting to devour, about being devoured, about hunger, about the insatiable.
it was worse, to be your secret. it was worse, you know, to be kept in the palm of your hand, and only ever sampled, have what-i-want lapping at my throat. there is an anticlimax when you do not drown in the public pool. you just come up, shivering, and the world continues around you. it is worse when they know who you are and their heart is open and raw and you are just simply not-food-enough. they're so empty, but you're too full of sinew and bone.
i'm here, you want to say. i'm here. god, please. make me your home.
i think there's something so beautiful about postcards and how they say that yes i was in this beautiful place but i still couldn't stop thinking about you
reading a paper on quality of life among 45-to-70-year-olds with Down syndrome:
“Individuals expressed a desire to be allowed to go to bed when they wanted to.”
Imagine.
I lived in a room and board that failed the burrito test. (”If you’re not allowed to get up in the middle of the night to microwave a burrito, you live in an institution.”) No one stopped me from going to bed, but they did tell me I had to have my lights out by 10, and that I had to be out of the house by 10 the next morning. When I complained to my outpatient program that I needed more help than I was getting, they threatened me with board and care, where my cell phone would be taken away and I would lose contact with the outside world. My case manager sounded so damn smug, like he had caught me out, when he said, “if you’re really as helpless as you say, then you need to be in a board and care.” Like my only options were struggling to do things I couldn’t do, or surrendering my life to an institution.
When I tried to talk about these things with other people, they always rationalized it away. (I told my dad once that my caseworker was reading my e-mails as I wrote them, demonstrating extreme disrespect for my privacy, and he said, “Well, she’s probably making sure you don’t use the internet to goof off.” I was 22 years old.)
People tend to mock the idea that telling an adult when to go to bed, when to eat, etc., is a human rights violation, even though they would find it outrageous and absurd if anyone came into their lives to do the same thing to them.
And this is what people seem to think when they tell disabled activists we’re just not disabled enough to understand that some people really do need to be locked up and deprived of all autonomy.
Here’s the paper:
https://library.down-syndrome.org/en-us/research-practice/06/3/quality-life-ageing-down-syndrome/
“I love myself / is often spelled / g-o-o-d-b-y-e”
— — Andrea Gibson, “Spelling Bee Without Stinger,” You Better Be Lightning
Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, This Is How You Lose the Time War
Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
there is happiness
Sylvia Plath, from “Three Women.”
.luna
I've always had an incredibly hard time leaving manipulative and toxic situations, even when I'm able to see it for what it is. I wish I could just understand why.