Sweet Seals For You, Always
Andulka
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Product Placement
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NASA
KIROKAZE
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
YOU ARE THE REASON
styofa doing anything
Monterey Bay Aquarium
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
will byers stan first human second
Not today Justin
Misplaced Lens Cap
art blog(derogatory)
RMH
Three Goblin Art
Xuebing Du
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@voletasam
Sam Dolph on Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts Maggie Nelson’s memoir, The Argonauts, is about undoing. Structurally, she undoes everything we are taught about how a piece of literature is supposed to...
feeling proud to share this piece i wrote about the argonauts by maggie nelson. here’s to coming undone.
SOMOS DOS-BOMBA ESTEREO
endless–& I said things like–‘If I ever see you again’ but–I’ll never see you again–I never saw you again–I made sure of that & I circled–the lake–I went in circles–the lake was endless–it was summer–I fucked up–too much time & I never saw–you again–& I
From Endless Summer by Nate Pritts (via hush-syrup)
current life motto
"under-qualified but doing it anyway!!!!!!!"
hot dreams // timber timbre
download: amazon | itunes
3:33 blows my mind
Lesbian Beds by Tammy Rae Carland
I have gazed the black flower blooming her animal eye. Gacela oscura. Negra llorona. Along the clayen banks I follow her-astonished, gathering grief’s petals she lets fall like horns. Why not now go toward the things I love? Like Jacob’s angel, I touched the garnet of her wrist, and she knew my name. And I knew hers— it was Auxocromo, it was Cromóforo, it was Eliza. It hurtled through me like honeyed-rum. When the eyes and lips are touched with honey what is seen and said will never be the same. Eve took the apple in that ache-opened mouth, on fire and in pieces, from the knife’s sharp edge. In the photo her fist presses against the red-gold geometry of her thigh. Black nylon, black garter, unsolvable mysterium—I have to close my eyes to see. Achilles chasing Hektor round the walls of Ilium three times. How long must I circle the high gate above her knees? Again the gods put their large hands in me, move me, break my heart like a clay jar of wine, loosen a beast from some darklong depth— my melancholy is hoofed. I, the terrible beautiful Lampon, a shining devour-horse tethered at the bronze manger of her collarbones. I do my grief work with her body—labor to make the emerald tigers in her hips leap, lead them burning green to drink from the violet jetting her. We go where there is love, to the river, on our knees beneath the sweet water. I pull her under four times until we are rivered. We are rearranged. I wash the silk and silt of her from my hands— now who I come to, I come clean to, I come good to.
“Grief Work,” Natalie Diaz (via commovente)
The Internet – Dontcha
V, v into this.
All other spiritual teachings are in vain if we cannot love. Even the most exalted states and the most exceptional spiritual accomplishments are unimportant if we cannot be happy in the most basic and ordinary ways, if, with our hearts, we cannot touch one another and the life we have been given. What matters is how we live.
Jack Kornfield via bell hooks in “all about love: new visions”
Patrick Van Der Elst Daisy photography, diasec120x80
Andrew Bird and Ian Schneller’s Sonic Arboretum…coming to the MCA in December. CANNOT WAIT!! (via MCA)
saw their exhibit at the ICA last night and holy moly--what a treaaaaaat. i wanna go and just hang out, listening to andrew bird’s sweet tunes, surrounded by ian schneller’s horn sculptures. what a world!
Adriana Varejão, “Wall with Incisions a la Fontana” (2000) (Image courtesy of ICA Boston).
Part of Adriana Varejão’s work Votive Offering and Skins at ICA Boston.
Koen Hauser
Happiness - The Feeling Increasing and Softening in Bright Blue, 1913. Alois Bílek. Watercolour on paper
ROSES ARE RED GENDER IS PERFORMATIVE MASS MARKET ROMANCE IS HETERONORMATIVE
We can never go back. I know that now. We can go forward. We can find the love our hearts long for, but not until we let go of grief about the love we lost long ago, when we were little and had no voice to speak the heart’s longing. All the years of my life I thought I was searching for love I found, retrospectively, to be years where I was simply trying to recover what had been lost, to return to the first home, to get back the rapture of first love. I was not really ready to love or be loved in the present. I was still mourning — clinging to the broken heart of girlhood, to broken connections. When that mourning ceased I was able to love again. I awakened from my trance state and was stunned to find the world I was living in, the world of the present, was no longer a world open to love. And I noticed that all around me I heard testimony that lovelessness had become the order of the day. I feel our nation’s turning away from love as intensely as I felt love’s abandonment in my girlhood. Turning away we risk moving into a wilderness of spirit so intense we may never find our way home again. I write of love to bear witness both to the danger in this movement, and to call for a return to love. Redeemed and restored, love returns us to the promise of everlasting life. When we love we can let our hearts speak.
from the “Preface” to bell hooks’ All About Love (via commovente)
