we built a mountain out of words

 e.

[artistsbooksandmultiples]

Moez Surani Every Day I was in Love (even thought i didn’t say so) Banff, Canada: No press, March 2019 8.5 x 11", folded Edition of 50

[metaphorformetaphor]

Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar…

—  William Faulkner, from The Sound and the Fury (Harrison Smith, 1929)

[romanticdaydreams]

I saw this on my professor’s door and I can’t even deal with the accuracy.

[wolfishgirl-deactivated20230129]

“Somewhere a man tells a woman she is not as alone as she thinks and she understands she is precisely as alone.”

— Anne Michaels, from ‘Somewhere Night is Falling’, All We Saw (via soracities)

[aquafolia]

“Medusa lost her beauty—or rather, it was taken from her. Beauty is always something you can lose. Women’s beauty is seen as something separate from us, something we owe but never own: We are its stewards, not its beneficiaries. We tend it like a garden where we do not live. Oh, but ugliness—ugliness is always yours. Almost everyone has some innate kernel of grotesquerie; even fashion models (I’ve heard) tend to look a bit strange and froggish in person, having been gifted with naturally level faces that pool light luminously instead of breaking it into shards. And everyone has the ability to mine their ugliness, to emphasize and magnify it, to distort even those parts of themselves that fall within acceptable bounds. Where beauty is narrow and constrained, ugliness is an entire galaxy, a myriad of sparkling paths that lurch crazily away from the ideal. There are so few ways to look perfect, but there are thousands of ways to look monstrous, surprising, upsetting, outlandish, or odd. Thousands of stories to tell in dozens of languages: the languages of strong features or weak chins, the languages of garish makeup and weird haircuts and startling clothes, fat and bony and hairy languages, the languages of any kind of beauty that’s not white. Nose languages, eyebrow languages, piercing and tattoo languages, languages of blemish and birthmark and scar. When you give up trying to declare yourself acceptable, there are so many new things to say.”

—

What If We Cultivated Our Ugliness?, Jess Zimmerman (via xshayarsha)

[coolhandofagirl]

stop me if you’ve heard this one but men will search for women who are full of joy and confidence so they can leech off of it and then after they’ve left her empty and burned out and drained of all the life that once existed behind her eyes they’ll say she isn’t the woman they fell in love with

[anastasia-yelchina]

[sunst0ne]

Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.

Homer, The Iliad  (via sunst0ne)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

my excessive heart / finds everything too small,

Miguel Hernández, from Selected Poems; “Like the Bull,” (via wethinkwedream)

[soracities]

“Soon we will be strangers. No, we can never be that. Hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. We will be dangerous acquaintances with a history.”

— Hanif Kureishi, Intimacy and Midnight All Day: A Novel and Stories (via agooduniverse)

[kakfa]

the contents page of Pictures & Tears: A History of People Who Have Cried in Front of Paintings by James Elkins

[mydarkenedeyes]

Taylor Urrea

[bicyclettefurniture]

⛺️ (at Northern Liberties, Philadelphia)

[ithelpstodream]

[mariposa-nena-deactivated201911]

“I don’t know how to express my emotions” sir you 28 go get some counseling and love yourself

[wordsnquotes]

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.”

— Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

[daughtersofhistory]

“I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.” ― Frida Kahlo

[truckstophottie]

Let’s get this straight

Southern Gothic: Abandoned Churches, cryptic gospel signs, don’t go near the marshes, elusive and overly religious people that are probably Up To Something but everyone is too afraid to ask what

Midwestern Gothic: Something Lives In The Corn, broken down trucks, gravel roads that lead nowhere, empty gas stations placed between tiny towns with only one attendant who makes too much eye contact but never speaks

Southwestern Gothic: Animal skulls hung from posts, shacks miles into the barren desert that still look lived in but nobody is ever seen around, They Watch From The Mountains, shapeshifting creatures hiding in the brush