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pierre boncompain / ran zheng / beya rebaï / pierre boncompain / lee kyutae / beya rebaï

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Margaret Atwood, from “Georgia Beach”, Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986

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Jack Gilbert

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Retro phone booths transformed into goldfish aquariums by Kingyobu Osaka, Japan 2011

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Blue Bed   -   Carlos Morago

Spanish,b.1954-

Oil on canvas, 60 x 100 cm.

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Living room   -   Carlos Morago

Spanish,b.1954-

Oil on canvas,60 x 81 cm.

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Prins Hendrikkade, Amsterdam, with straw market and the Ronde Lutherse Kerk   -    Cornelis Vreedenburgh , 1931.

Dutch,  1880-1946

Oil on canvas,  59.3 x 72.8 cm, 

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Clarice Lispector, tr. by Elizabeth Lowe, Água Viva

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of course i’m professional, how else would i have playlists such as

- im somewhere between cottagecore and dark academia and i want a wife

- the inherent homoeroticism of ships

- can i throw a bacchanal if its a gathering of less than ten people

- this is my emotional support quarantine banana bread

- being into your best friend is actually just a pain in the ass

- “dark academia” is shorter than saying we’re all pretentious fucks

- study vibes for the hypothetical scenerio of me actually studying

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how can people not say i love you during a one night stand?

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streaks of cigarette smoke paint the air where my mother sits preaching on the front porch wise beyond her years left to rot in a world that kicks her when she is down "god made me this way for a reason" she says with such a depressing conviction i wonder who she tries to convince as she rolls the window down to fight this hours hot flash somehow we have travelled from the porch to the car in this address maybe that is the power of language to superfluously concretize associations that we think are poetic but are in fact nothing

although what is sentimentality if it's not poetic or perhaps even dying like the

well like something i imagine

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audio edits that unlock secret emotions

‘mystery of love’ by sufjan stevens but you’re in your countryside backyard picking flowers while your neighbor who you’re secretly in love with plays music you can hear through their open window.

‘clair de lune’ by claude debussy but you’re wandering down the halls of your wealthy reclusive uncle’s grand and empty mansion trying to find who’s playing the piano because you haven’t seen another soul for weeks except your reflection in the mirror.

‘movement’ by hozier but you’re hiding in an abandoned warehouse during a thunderstorm. 

cavetown’s ‘you’ve got a friend in me’ except it’s playing through an old radio you found during your post-apocalyptic scavenger hunt, reminding you of an old friend who went missing three years ago who you were secretly in love with.

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“If I do nothing, if I study nothing, if I cease searching, then, woe is me, I am lost. That is how I look at it—keep going, keep going come what may.”

— Vincent van Gogh, in a letter to Theo van Gogh, July, 1880

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Tammy Rae Carland, Lesbian Beds, 2002

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“When I sit down to write, I do not say to myself, ‘I am going to produce a work of art.’ I write because there is some lie that I want to expose, some fact to which I want to draw attention, and my initial concern is to get a hearing.”

— George Orwell

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