- ask me!
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“Each of us is given
only so many mornings to do it—
to look around and love,”— Mary Oliver, ‘The Deer,’ from House of Light
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- “the need to go astray, to be destroyed, is an extremely private, distant, passionate, turbulent truth”
— Georges Bataille
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- “[You], eater of moonlight, drinker Of brightness, feet of jewels On the mountain, velvet feet In the meadow grass, darkness Braided with wild roses—”
— Kenneth Rexroth, excerpt of “Maroon Bells”, in Sacramental Acts
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The Nixie in the Goldfish Pond, Franz Hein
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- “There is no special love exclusively reserved for romantic partners. Genuine love is the foundation of our engagement with ourselves, with family, with friends, with partners, with everyone we choose to love.”
— bell hooks, from All About Love: New Visions
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JUDY CHICAGO
USA, b. 1939
BIRTH TRINITY QUILT, 1983
Quilt tapestry
44 x 124 in. | 111.8 x 315 cm.(via jazbaaati)
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lizzobeeating: THE QUEEN IS BORED… NA WHO FINNA ENTERTAIN HER? introducing.. “MISS HAIR CHAIR 2021”🍯
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- "Suddenly, I stopped dead. I had opened my calendar to the month of August as usual, to write in the neat white box labeled with day and date, a scant summary of the activities completed in the last 12 hours. Sickened, I saw that I had unwittingly completed the last day of August. Tomorrow would be September. God! All the quick futility of my days cascaded upon me, and I wanted to scream out in helpless fury at the hopeless inevitable going on of seconds, days and years. By the time I fill in this page, said I, I will have finished my job, gone home, spent four days at the Cape and either added to or detracted from my relationship with the one man-in-my-life at present, passed or failed my driving test, given my speech at the Smith Club tea, packed my things, and embarked on a merry-go-round among much jingling of bells and harnesses and neighing of horses, to whiz through another year of my life - becoming nineteen (where do they hide the young, tender years?) and beating out some sort of life at Smith ….. crisping into woollen autumn and into the darkening iron of November … and Christmas … vacation - grinding through an icy, mud-grimy January-February-March, and tentatively, unbelievingly, unfolding into another spring, when the damn world makes us think we are as young as we ever were and deceives us by pale lucid skies and the sudden opening of little leaves."
— The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, diary entry no. 118, August 1951
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― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
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dry with longing
quotidian inspiration
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