sting

25 × she/her not hehe at all

[ste1lar]

diana (or yue, if u want) 25-ish

i like fresh uni, gourmand fragrances, and cherry-flavoured anything

[redvelvetsource]

WENDY for W KOREA (MAY 2024)

[eventually--darling]

If you guys were on here at 11 years old what would you be posting about

[junglejim4322]

I’m like if someone smart chose to be an idiot. Out of free will

[kisxmesoft]

[maxinestims]

[themoongirls]

240324 | withaseul instagram post 🕊

[angelicdewdrop]

[sl33pyfairy]

[die-rosastrasse]

Swan babies 🤍

Dublin, Ireland, taken on 35mm film

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

[Writing] is a solitary independent activity in which practice can never bestow seniority. Fortunately anyone can take up the activity. Whatever the motives, […] the writing becomes as soon as I begin, a struggle to give meaning to experience. Every profession has limits to its competence, but also its own territory. Writing, as I know it, has no territory of its own. The act of writing is nothing except the act of approaching the experience written about; just as, hopefully, the act of reading the written text is a comparable act of approach.

To approach experience, however, is not like approaching a house. Experience is indivisible and continuous, at least with a single lifetime and perhaps over many lifetimes. I never have the impression that my experience is entirely my own, and it often seems to me that it preceded me. In any case experience folds upon itself, refers backwards and forwards to itself through the referents of hope and fear; and, by the use of metaphor which is at the origin of language, it is continually comparing like with unlike, what is small with what is large, what is near with what is distant. And so the act of approaching a given moment of experience involves both scrutiny (closeness) and the capacity to connect (distance). The movement of writing resembles that of a shuttlecock: repeatedly it approaches and withdraws, closes in and takes its distance. Unlike a shuttlecock, however, it is not fixed to a static frame. As the movement of writing repeats itself, its nearness to, its intimacy with the experience increases. Finally, if one is fortunate, meaning is the fruit of this intimacy.

John Berger, from “The Storyteller,” Landscapes: John Berger on Art (Verso, 2016)

[2-115]

Convolvulus arvensis flowers by Luigi Strano on Flickr.

[geopsych]

Plumbago looking more lavender than blue in the first light of morning.

[yeopposcya]

[tokyoproxy]

桜

[gallarie]

LUNAA444

[alnitaks]

nailsbysami_