long lost

fearing found

[virtuallyinsane]

Wick, UK / Annie Spratt

[nemfrog]

“Comparison of Spermatogenesis and Ovum Segmentation.” The evolution of sex. 1889.

Internet Archive

[finita--la--commedia]

“A man who publishes his letters becomes a nudist—nothing shields him from the world’s gaze except his bare skin. A writer, writing away, can always fix things up to make himself more presentable, but a man who has written a letter is stuck with it for all time—unless he is dishonest.”

— E. B. White (1899-1985), in a letter to Corona Machemer,  North Brooklin, Maine, dated June 11, 1975, in “Letters of E.B. White“

[crucifiedlovers]

“Desire is about vanishing. You dream of a bowl of cherries and next day receive a letter written in red juice.”

— Anne Carson, Norma Jeane Baker of Troy

[george-frederick-watts]

Paulo And Francesco, George Frederick Watts

Medium: oil

[p3r1p4t3t1c]

I can be your pharmakos too, sweet devotees of the sea. For all of my protestations, I am, for you (mercifully) mortal. Hit me and I bruise, cut me and I will spill iron into the saltwater, put a flame to me and I will burn. Exile me and I will go - laughing, shaking my head.

Is that a good idea, though? Give me up, commend me (my pain) to our shared master and I swear by the same gods we trace in the dark, under the covers, bookshelves turned away for our shame... I swear the sin won’t come out of you. I swear our liege sees us both for what we are. Whether my blood runs in me or in the ocean, it runs still. How big would you like me?

Here, look, today is one of those days when a recurring pattern in the sky makes the world seem small. Makes us seem small. Like miniatures in a diorama. If you are to do it, do it now.

[soracities]

Yusef Komunyakaa & Chad Gracia, Gilgamesh: A Verse Play

[philosophybits]

“The contract between the author and the reader is a game. And the game… is one of the greatest inventions of Western civilization: the game of telling stories, inventing characters, and creating the imaginary paradise of the individual, from whence no one can be expelled because, in a novel, no one owns the truth and everyone has the right to be heard and understood.”

— Carlos Fuentes, Myself with Others (via quotespile)

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

“All my life I have desired total complicity (in the best sense of the word) with a being. I have found it with you and at the same time a new meaning to my life. So perhaps we can indeed try to establish ourselves above all things. In any case, it will be this dream or it will be destruction. But it is also true that I would rather run to destruction with you than experience comfortable solitude.”

— Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, July 27, 1949 [#74]

[thesilicontribesman]

Iron Age Decorated Gold Bracelets, The British Museum, London.

[the-book-diaries]

“Don’t ask for guarantees. And don’t look to be saved in any one thing, person, machine, or library. Do your own bit of saving, and if you drown, at least die knowing you were heading for shore.”

— Ray Bradbury, Farenheit 451

[jacobvanloon]

Copper Ore Watercolor and graphite on panel, 48x48" 2021

[p3r1p4t3t1c]

(slipping oh so gently into a vat of acid, of caffeine, of arsenic) .....mmmmhhhhh, ohhhhh yessssssss

[weepingwidar]

Samir Rafi (Egyptian, 1926-2004) - The Visit (1965)

[p3r1p4t3t1c]

i sink to a new echelon of depression, and between the dusk coloured tracks under my eyes, the absent tired gaze, the coffee gripped a little too tightly - the smiling face on my shirt visibly glows with irony (be cautious! this is when i am at my most powerful!)

[p3r1p4t3t1c]

I run a hand over myself and somewhere under the dull warmth of the skin on my neck, the beat of a pulse, the pulse of a shiver down my spine and that I am electric is brought before my mind. A hand glides over black glass, and I trace its impossible length (from here to you) to mark the extent of a body that is in no special sense less mine. I feel no pulse under its smooth skin, but the shiver runs through it purer. Can you feel it?

A shiver is a body sounding itself out and now I sound out ours. Points in space, ones and zeroes, yes and no, rattle through these invisible nerves (strings, corridors), and airy sinews rail away from them, contracting now, expanding now, to put this shiver in your court (show you where my hand is).

It’s a different kind of electric but we were a different kind of beast to begin with. A labyrinthine body of text, of electricity in the air, a cavernous and sprawing logic to run riot through - glass skin and radio muscle, text signals for shivers. And none of it linear, all of it a body sounding itself out. I run a hand over ourself, hit send.

[onorthochrasaei]