marshmalmö @marshmalmo - Tumblr Blog

nobrashfestivity

Hélio Oiticica

Metaesquema No. 4066, 1950s

postcardhistory

Matsumoto Hoji

Frog

Coloured ink on paper

1814

dutchstore

positivemilkhotel

this is the greatest video ever invented, ever. ever

marshmalmo

I love this so so much. The piano looks like the Yamaha I grew up playing.

poopballs-blog

Chinjeolhan geumjassi (Sympathy for Lady Vengeance),2005, Park Chan-wook

arabellesicardi

One of my favorite things to do — my favorite thing, perhaps — is to think about color theory and beauty, of course they go together, of course. your brain on theBalm. Red was the start and also the present. Red is the color of martyrdom and death and fervor. The metabolic rate of a human being supposedly increases by 13.4% when you see the color red, so says Alexander Theroux. When you see a red light hand grip strength increases almost 20%. Red was the first color to be named in most primitive languages, Adam in Hebrew tradition is rooted in both “alive” and “red”. Red, you want the color of suffering, red, the color of blood and life, a very veritable pulse.

troublepeach

photo by Monika Mogi

Yukari wears Issey Miyake

bonecastles

La Douleur, Paul Dardé (1813)

tawnyscostumesandcuriosities-de

bromazepam

Circa 1968 Aloisia Rucellai evening bag, gold and platinum, translucent enamel, diamonds, and rubies.

nonbinarymerbabe

all I can think is Slytherin

princessofthedeadsheep

#dont even fucking try to tell me thats not slytherin #some slyherin bought that #with her family money thats been handed down to her #to go to a ball in the 60s #dont even fucKING TELL ME IM WRONG

petitefaguette

#it looks like it can only be opened with parseltongue

ursamajori

"Oh hold on I gotta get a tampon"

"HISSSSHISHAYISSS"

madeleinedvs

Schiaparelli compact case.

thetruthaboutcatsanddogs

But more often I wonder if there’s something else at work—an exhaustion, perhaps, that keeps us silent and complicit (are there only so many battles we can fight?). Or a nagging fear of acknowledging that our communities—our support spaces, our organizing groups, our people—could be infected with the same misogyny we spend our days fighting everywhere else. A fear that patriarchy exists in the bodies of those we know and love, in the allies, the activists, the Good Guys. A recognition, painful perhaps, that survivors and perpetrators don’t split neatly along a binary, the one all angelic and good, the other evil and bad. That violence is much closer to home, that it has the face of a friend, the name of a fellow fighter.

when we call bad guys good (via thetruthaboutcatsanddogs)