[notyetrichie]

[theoptia]

Jean-Paul Sartre, from No Exit and Three Other Plays; “The Flies"

Text ID: ELECTRA: Everybody here is sick with fear. Everyone except me. And I— / ORESTES: Yes? And you? ELECTRA: [...] I'm sick with—hatred.

[sirensongfm]

Visit Original Link

[velocitations]

T-R-O-U-B-L-E

[021904]

Jamie King by Davide Sorrenti (1994-1997)

[hairtusk]

Simone Weil, 'Void and Compensation' (in Gravity and Grace, trans. Emma Craufurd)

[lilcowgirl7-deactivated20210223]

[pbs-r]

DECLARATIONS OF A HEALTHY ADULTHOOD 

DAVID RICHO

[thirdity]

“We have in fact only two certainties in this world — that we are not everything and that we will die. To be conscious of not being everything, as one is of being mortal, is nothing. But if we are without a narcotic, an unbreathable void reveals itself. I wanted to be everything, so that falling into this void, I might summon my courage and say to myself: “I am ashamed of having wanted to be everything, for I see now that it was to sleep.” From that moment begins a singular experience. The mind moves in a strange world where anguish and ecstasy coexist.”

— Georges Bataille, Inner Experience

[trashyayo]

Cary Leibowitz

[velocitations]

getting free but like fr this time. yeah it's getting late

[casadabiqueira]

Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Joel Meyerowitz, 1977

[velocitations]

california dreamin got my money on my mind, choices in my veins, runnin outta time,

[nobrashfestivity]

Unknown, Gold beach, California, 1939

[americaisdead]

james dean crash site.

california route 46. november 2022

© tag christof

[karmasex]

Spring Breakers (2013) Dir. Harmony Korine

[latenightcornerstore]

“It’s summer, which means my skin is all honey before noon. Which means I’m celebrating the anniversaries of lovers I never kissed and bodies I never loved. Which means the air is humid as an open mouth with all this wanting.”

— POPSICLES AND GEORGIA O’KEEFFE PAINTINGS by Ashe Vernon

[derangedrhythms]

I feel more vulnerable in the spring than in the fall. That’s why I’m so damp. This isn’t sweat. It’s something the sun has wrung from my heart. 

Izumi Kyoka, Japanese Gothic Tales; from ‘One Day in Spring’, tr. Charles Shiro Inouye

[postnuclearophelia]

summer isnt even real