[whenharrymetsallys]

“The hero’s body is less a site of personal experience and identity than one invested with political consequence; his wounds are tallied fetishistically and their display to the populace is a significant act.”

— Cynthia Marshall, ‘Coriolanus and the Politics of Theatrical Pleasure.’

[trees-waiting]

Jean Baudrillard, Seduction

[twotheleft]

[space-pics]

A (rightfully!) quite famous picture, Saturn eclipsing the sun in natural colors.

[am1na1992]

“There is no special love exclusively reserved for romantic partners. Genuine love is the foundation of our engagement with ourselves, with family, with friends, with partners, with everyone we choose to love.”

— bell hooks, from All About Love: New Visions (via dearestvita)

[akindplace]

Peopleiloved

[ghostineyes-deactivated20190926]

[alisonzai]

[aaaaaarchive]

VTG Royal Air Force Jacket

[devilmuse]

Something was missing and then it hit me. THE NIPPLE PIERCING

[malheurs]

[chloesevignygf]

enya umanzor featured in the heaven zine by elisa sue young park

[theparisianscent]

[equatorjournal]

Maison créole moderne, avec sa galerie couverte où il fait bon discuter, Les Antilles, 1979.

[insidemycar]

[firstfullmoon]

In the late summer of 2018, an orca whale named Tahlequah swam around the Pacific Ocean carrying the corpse of her dead calf under her fin. The calf had died a few hours after its birth. Tahlequah was first spotted attempting to push it toward the edge of the Pacific Ocean between the United States and Canada before deciding to just carry the calf with her, which she did for over two weeks. Observers and scientists called it a “tour of grief.” The length of mourning was—to that point—unprecedented. It was always a question of letting go. If the whale let her calf go, it would sink to the bottom of the ocean and become a memory.  Once, I had a conversation with a poet who also lost their mother. As we charted out our shared grief, the poet told me something they had learned from another poet. “Well, we have two mothers,” they began to tell me. “The one we keep with us in our hearts, and the corpse we can’t put down.”  There is the putting down of the metaphorical corpse, and then there is the carrying of the physical, but the hesitation to part with both comes from a similar place. A mother who has lost a child carries with her not only the corpse of that child, but the potential for what that life could have been. I mourn both the actual body and the potential for the whole person it held. How much better my time in the world could have been spent with all of the once-living people I’ve loved, still here.  The drawn-out funeral, or the pictures on the wall, or the remembrances yelled into a night sky are all a part of that carrying. It is all fighting for the same message: holding on to the memory of someone with two hands and saying, I refuse to let you sink. 

— Hanif Abdurraqib, from “On Going Home as Performance,” in A Little Devil in America

[inland-delta]

Walter Williams, SUMMER 2, 1971