standing in the doorway

Chelsea, 29 spends her time peeking in on desolation row

[crucifiedlovers]

You tasted it. Isn't that enough? Of what do you ever get more than a taste? That's all we're given in life, that's all we're given of life. A taste. There is no more.

Philip Roth, The Dying Animal

[huariqueje]

Alke and Gerberas   -   Jesse Dayan , 2019.

Australian, b.  1982  -

Oil on linen

[jeffbuckleyforever]

Jeff Buckley with fans after his performance at Shinjuku Liquid Room on January 30, 1995 in Tokyo, Japan.

[farewell-persephone]

[xshayarsha]

“he’s trying to tell you that there is some sort of shining star now buried deep inside you and he has to dig it out with a knife.”

—

Richard Siken, from Crush; The Dislocated Room.

[finita-la-commedia]

Mary Magdalene as a hermit, detail (1865)  Francesco Hayez

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Trap, oil painting by Konstantin Korobov

[weltenwellen]

Jennifer Saunders, from “Wait a Second, Let Me Write It Down”

[lilithingardenofeden-deactivate]

'Incipit Vita Nova - Dante' (1903), Cesare Saccaggi (Italian, 1868-1934)

[softwaring]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“The laughing sound of the river […], and the high melancholy voice of the wind in the branches of the tall pine. I slow-circle and glide into the house, bringing the night-wind smell with me, fold myself back into my body. I haven’t left you. I don’t leave you, not ever. Do you know why? Because when you are gone I re-create you from memory. The scent of your skin, […] face in my hands. I miss you. I miss you even now as you lie next to me.”

— Sandra Cisneros, from “Eyes of Zapata,”  Daughters of the Fifth Sun: A Collection of Latina Fiction and Poetry (eds. Bryce Milligan, Mary Guerrero Milligan, and Angela de Hoyos (Riverhead Books, 1995)

[leuc-deactivated20150726]

Sandro Botticelli, The Birth of Venus (detail), 1486

[mmayisa]

Louise Bourgeois- You better grow up, 1993

[unangecommetoi]

George Hillyard Swinstead (1905) The Angel’s Message

[spageddy29]

[89words]

“I’m walking out now into the soft light, the cooling hum of evening, and I will love you tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and still many more, so very many more tomorrows.”

— Vladimir Nabokov, in a letter to his wife Véra [March 1925] from Letters to Véra, tr. by Olga Voronin & Brian Boyd

[woundgallery]

Louise Bourgeois, 10 AM is When You Came to Me, 2006