Of Melancholy Burning

+18/ Mag/ in my early 30s/ Not Intererested/ "I have no name. I am as the fresh breeze of the mountains. I have no shelter, I am as the wandering waters. I have no sanctuary, like the dark gods. Nor I am in the shadow of deep temples". The Song of Life, Jiddu Krishnamuti.

[fragmentedessence-deactivated20]

Often, I've wanted not death, but disappearance, evaporation, a bloodless self-banishment.

— Maya C. Popa, from "Duress," Wound Is the Origin of Wonder

[classic-art-favourites]

Sailing Ship on a Calm Sea by Moonlight by Ivan Aivazovsky, 1897.

[existential-celestial]

“I will love you if you don’t marry me. I will love you if you marry someone else…and I will love you if you have a child, and I will love you if you have two children, or three children, or even more…and I will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights I prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios I have mentioned…I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way.”

— The Beatrice Letters, Lemony Snicket

[birdasaurus]

Iringo Demeter

[ps1]

Hakone

[exposenature]

[forlornalbatross]

May arrived with a loss; a grief now has a name but unlabelled; June left with papa's funeral; there's no pyre, just the traditional comatose of 30K burial unplanned; July is burning every hole in my pockets; left one job two jobs down & I have no remorse, no regret, no words implying for pity; it is what it is but it has also set the new standard of existence, truly you got my back I got yours, if you got none, do not expect the extension when it's your turn; my loss & not yours & this too will not organically pass but it will be forced to pass -

D C de Oliveira | Grief as a shape, Triangle July 07 2026, Tue, 10.11am

[ddestroyangels]

Saint George and The Dragon by Gustave Moreau, c. 1889-90

National Gallery, London

[plushefemme]

not to be a hedonist but. pleasure IS the whole point, my loves. we are made for pleasure. humans have not survived out of spite or sheer grit or simply to make more humans. we live for pleasure. the pleasure of licking the last delicious crumbs off your fingers and feeling sunlight on your skin and massaging a loved one's shoulders. we're made to fill our bellies with delicious food, to nap in soft grass, to touch each other in joy and comfort.

there is no shame or guilt in our bodies doing what they were made to do. and we are made for pleasure.

[fairyw1ngs]

[in-the-depths-of-solitude]

Egon Schiele, Seated Woman With Bent Knees, 1917

[rotting-sword-maiden]

For the love of god and anything holy, THIS IS NOT EGON SCHIELE. THIS IS MOTHERFUCKING AI SLOP. STOP ASSOCIATING THIS CRAP TO EGIN'S MASTERPIECES

[metamorphesque]

The Passion of the Christ (2004), dir. Mel Gibson

[ducissatenebrarum]

The souls of sinners delivered into the mouth of Hell.

From a xylographic blockbook, Opera, engraved and printed by Giovanni Andrea Vavassore, Venice, 1510.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Yves Bonnefoy, tr. by Anthony Rudolf, from The Selected Poems; “The Ravine,”

[requiem-on-water]

Heart Nebula by Wendy Williams | Aldebaran S | AstroNorm | Byronmhome 

[requiem-on-water]

view of the earth from space at night (1) Anirudh (2) itsiken

[carmen-photography]

Where Wind Never Rests (5) - Madeira 2026