a collection of inspo and things

[metamorphesque]

  — Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G.H.

[text ID: It is because I dove into the abyss that I am beginning to love the abyss I am made of.]

[douvaqueenmarieheard-deactivate]

Ann Demeulemeester at Paris Fall 2010

[jacquesdemys]

The Soft Skin (dir. François Truffaut, 1964)

[mysterium-solis]

Cupid Carving His Bow (detail) by Parmigianino (c. 1533-1535)

[latibule-e-deactivated20231012]

— Clarice Lispector, from “Report on the Thing.”

[derangedrhythms]

“Do you hunger for me, do you burn for me?”

— Margaret Atwood, from ‘The Heart Goes Last’

[feral-ballad]

We talk of people caring for each other in emergencies— (…)

but you look at me like an emergency.

Adrienne Rich, from Diving into the Wreck; “Trying to talk with a man”

[metamorphesque]

— To the Desert, Benjamin Alire Sáenz 

[derangedrhythms]

He looked at me. I mean he looked at me. My God. His eyes were to die for.

Carol Ann Duffy, The World’s Wife; from ‘Pilate’s Wife’

[latibule-e-deactivated20231012]

— Lianyu Tan, from “The Wicked and the Willing.”

[feral-ballad]

I think I learned love from a hunter and all I do now is listen for gunshots.

Alison Kronstadt, Bred In Captivity

[feral-ballad]

Forugh Farrokhzad, tr. by Sholeh Wolpé, from Sin: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad; “On Loving”

[Text ID: "I'm so filled with you / I want to run through meadows, / bash my head against mountain rocks, / give myself to ocean waves. / I'm so filled with you / I want to crumble into myself like a speck of dust, / to gently lay my head at your feet, / cling fast to your weightless shadow."]

[flowerytale]

Henry James, from The Portrait of a Lady

[foreigngods]

I WILL BE THE KNIFE THIS TIME.

prayer for the newly damned, ocean vuong / unknown / mercy, yves olade / cut, caitlyn siehl

[litaratura]

Jasmine Mans, “Secrets” from Black Girl, Come Home

[basquiatwowo]

Andy Goldsworthy, Balance, 1977

[feral-ballad]

My body taught me to be tender / I want a new one. / I want fangs. / A jaw with hinges wide as spite and no learned musings of a conscience.

Alison Kronstadt, Bred In Captivity