Guy Bourdin
Invite for MAF!A Ad Agency, 1972
Photo: © The Guy Bourdin Estate

#extradirty
Sade Olutola

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noise dept.
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@theartofmadeline
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oozey mess
todays bird
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
One Nice Bug Per Day
Not today Justin

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@statuamsalis
Guy Bourdin
Invite for MAF!A Ad Agency, 1972
Photo: © The Guy Bourdin Estate
“The practice of text is the practice of being. To dig into the word means digging into ourselves. I am the one whom I write—who writes himself with the words that write me… I am the word which in expressing itself expresses me.”
— Edmond Jabès (trans. Rosmarie Waldrop) from To Answer To…To Answer For… (via mothwood)
“Will he come? Will he come across the night of words? Across the silence of speech? Across the starry rose at the center of night? Bright as the blade of words across the flesh of darkness?”
— Muhammad ‘Abd al-Hayy, excerpt of ‘Ode of Signs’. Tr. Matthew Sorenson and Alistair Elliot. From The New African Poetry: An Anthology.
The Resurrection Of The Year by George Wallis (1857).
jesus christ was dead longer than misha collins was bi
Yeah okay I can’t not reblog thjs
Wanda Coleman, Mercurochrome
Worse, thanks to what is called “shifting baseline syndrome,” changes that initially seem extreme come to be accepted as normal over time. The next generation of children, who will never remember how many birds (or butterflies or hedgehogs or manatees) once existed in the wild, will not hear anything eerie in the silence. Once a mass murder is complete, its victims tell no tales. When humans killed the last of the giant “Steller sea cows” several hundred years ago, the memory of these mega-manatees faded away quickly, and now they seem like something fantastical. We know that “in just over 100 years the world lost as much forest as it had in the previous 9,000 years,” but when nobody is left alive who remembers the old forests, the loss is not felt.
Nathan J. Robinson, Obliterating the Natural World
There were so many more bugs outside in the 90s. Native, plentiful bugs that indicated a healthy environment. They’ve been decimated. This is backed up by data, insect biomass is devastatingly low compared to even just a decade ago. Pesticides should be banned outright. We need to do this now. It didn’t have to be this way, but people who are already dead, or about to be, sold my future for money. They sold yours too. It’s fucked.
*anguished keening*
Susan Stamm Evans
Sigh
It seems like Twitter’s death knell is clanging, which is too bad. I may stay there, because I follow lots of climate scientist and independent journalists from my hometown area who do excellent reporting on/coverage of wildfires, and I hope that their crucial information doesn’t get stifled. But just…..sigh.
I hate change, and I’m beset by it on all sides. “The beatings will continue until morale improves” seems not totally irrelevant here.
Student Pearls—Describe [w]: Upper lip and the back of the tongue come into close approximation.
~ Finger ring with feline head in relief flanked by two snakes.
Culture: Mixtec
Date: ca. 1200-1521
Place of origin: Mexico
Medium: Gold alloy
this guidebook from 1831 says the water from the seine is good but “has a laxative quality”…girl that is the cholera
Well as long as we’re talking about the ancient internet, who remembers this.
I was prepared for the memories, but I was not prepared for my fingers to start reflexively twitching, trying to play the game.
[iwasthereGandalf.gif]
June and November.
“3/ 1/ 66. The essence of life is to welcome a challenge, even though not being quite sure how to meet it.”
— Patricia Highsmith, “Patricia Highsmith: Her Diaries and Notebooks: 1941-1995.″ Anna von Planta (Editor). (Liveright, November 16, 2021)
neeeeeeeded this today.
“Ernest Hemingway would have died rather than have syntax. Or semicolons. I use a whole lot of half-assed semicolons; there was one of them just now; that was a semicolon after “semicolons,” and another one after “now.” And another thing. Ernest Hemingway would have died rather than get old. And he did. He shot himself. A short sentence. Anything rather than a long sentence, a life sentence. Death sentences are short and very, very manly. Life sentences aren’t. They go on and on, all full of syntax and qualifying clauses and confusing references and getting old. And that brings up the real proof of what a mess I have made of being a man.”
—
Ursula K. Le Guin on being a man – the finest, sharpest thing I’ve read in ages
(via explore-blog)
The Break-up of the Ice (La Débâcle or Les Glaçons) Claude Monet 1880
UMMA
winter! winter! winter!