𝙽𝙴𝙿𝚃𝚄𝙽𝙴.

side-blog for creative inspiration.

[imdatingurdad]

Wtf is hook up culture? write me poems then die in a war

[weltenwellen]

James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

[megairea]

The garden was still asleep. […] It’s beautiful, a garden that isn’t yet thinking of men.

Jean Anouilh, Antigone (tr. by Zander Teller), 1944 (via megairea)

[classicarte]

Détail de « L'Adieu du Roi Lear à Cordelia », par Edwin Austin Abbey (1898)

Detail of “Cordelia’s Farewell”, by Edwin Austin Abbey (1898).

[fawnaura]

“I lift you up like a sapling, my best burden: for to me you are weightless.”

— Marina Tsvetaeva, from Bride of Ice; “Verses about Moscow”

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

She liked to put her head on his chest and listen to his heart. "How could one person ever hurt another after doing this?" she’d asked him the first time. "But we do."

– Denis Johnson, Resuscitation of a Hanged Man

[oiseauroi]

marina tsvetaeva trans by ilya kaminsky

[weltenwellen]

James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

[weltenwellen]

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

[headspace-hotel]

some people like gritty realism. me? I like that slippery, slippery unhinged fantasy. low viscosity make-believe. well-oiled bullshit. lubed-up whimsy.

[weltenwellen]

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

[tinyhistory2]

I Have No Hands to Caress my Face (Mario Giacomellli, circa 1962, gelatin silver print).

A group of trainee priests dance together in the courtyard of a seminary in Senigallia, on the coast of Italy. Giacomelli was hidden on a roof nearby and took the photograph secretly. He spent a year at the seminary, producing photographs of the trainees as they prepared for priesthood, but got kicked out after he gave the priests cigarettes.

[luthienne]

And everything must be a lie because I am not situated in my soul. I don’t complain politely. I’m fed up with poetry. I close the door.

Blanca Varela, from The Blinding Star (tr. Sara Daniele Rivera & Lisa Allen Ortiz)

[Original: Y todo debe ser mentira porque no estoy en el sitio de mi alma. No me quejo de la buena manera. La poesía me harta. Cierro la puerta.]

(via luthienne)

[kvothes]

marie howe, in an interview with krista tippett of on being

[chateauofmymind]

who holds the reins of my desires if not my hands?

fierce / unknown / andrew thomas huang / natalie diaz

[theoptia]

Osip Mandelstam, from Voronezh Notebooks

Text ID: I love a frozen exhalation, / The stream of a wintry confession, / Me—I’m me: reality—is reality...

[megairea]

The garden was still asleep. […] It’s beautiful, a garden that isn’t yet thinking of men.

Jean Anouilh, Antigone (tr. by Zander Teller), 1944 (via megairea)