Regina @vivalasigh - Tumblr Blog

Where do they sell these vests

I've asked out 6 people in the past year & my success rate is 2/6 or 3/6 depending on the response I get today (sent a text at 2:45pm) & I was gonna make a joke about collecting Ls but tbh this is a pretty solid response rate and I should not be ashamed.

glamandillusionz

Iggy Pop, c. 1973

Photo by Mick Rock

brarchives

ouro preto, brasil (2015): participants dressed as angels during the traditional holy week procession. photography by mario tama.

germanpostwarmodern

Philips Exeter Academy Library (1965-71) in Exeter, NH, USA, by Louis Kahn

imacone

"Passingly, I think that this might always have been inevitable, that perhaps she had always known it but had wanted to hold on for me, for as long as she could."

-Our Wives Under the Sea

ololygas

really excited for The Odyssey & bought a solo ticket to see it Sat night/ prob also gonna go see the Etruscan exhibit Sun/ what can I say/ I love ancient civilizations/ it's nice to be invited to parties etc. but the 11 year old girl inside me needs some alone time with her special interests lol

nervebynerve

“The daily routine of most adults is so heavy and artificial that we are closed off to much of the world. We have to do this in order to get our work done. I think one purpose of art is to get us out of those routines. When we hear music or poetry or stories, the world opens up again. We’re drawn in — or out — and the windows of our perception are cleansed, as William Blake said. The same thing can happen when we’re around young children or adults who have unlearned those habits of shutting the world out.”

— Ursula K. Le Guin

Victoria Chang, interviewed on Only Poems

#Victoria Chang #Poetry #i get down on my knees in the face of language every day

samuelmrtn

The trail up to the summit was covered in wild blackberries that were just turning ripe. We stopped and ate for a while before continuing the climb.

Sunday night, feeling low. I think I finally stopped moving long enough to feel my grief, which is always, at the root, a longing for mothering. I wrote a sad poem today about memory loss and mommy issues. I'm staying in my mother's house while she's away and I'm in-between housing (long story). Now that I know this is a temporary stop, I'm beginning to feel angry with her. Which she deserves, but it's still hard to hold; She is a lonely, divorced woman in her late 60s. But, I find myself wishing she could die so I could be honest about our relationship, and how she seemed incapable of fully loving me. I'm not sure she can love anyone, really, and yet, she unquestionably loved me less well than she loved my brother or my father. And yet, I'm the one who spends the most time with her now.

I don't know how I'll ever work through this grief. For so long, I clung to the fantasy of love-as-savior, but such a love never arrived. Now, I am 32 and better, grounded in reality, and have hewed an odd little artist's life for myself, but I'm also aberrant. Sure, I have the sky and the ocean, but it would also be nice to have a pair of arms to hold.

#moody #don't reblog