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what a strange constellation they all were

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prints on redbubble

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EZRA MILLER GQ Italia | 2019 › ph. Michel Comte

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Nobody is in love with me and everything is still warm. Still soft. Still rosewater and a typewriter ribbon. Still cookbooks and salt air and sheer black lingerie. Still red lipstick. Still mostly kind. Still often uncomplicated. Still mints at the bottom of my purse, hair held back, pulse thumping through skin. Still sweet tea in a pitcher on the kitchen counter, a cold glass with three lemon slices, a full ice cube tray. I don’t understand how it’s all so light.

Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)

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Pièces d'orfevrerie et pêche | Joseph Bail (1862-1921)

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“With a quick flick of his wrist, he tosses the hat onto my head. And I’m soaring. I take back everything. He is a revolutionary.”

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Winning doesn’t mean anything unless someone else loses.

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Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Let it all pass. Let it go.

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude (via thequietworld)

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Does the sun ask itself, “Am I good? Am I worthwhile? Is there enough of me?” No, it burns and it shines. Does the sun ask itself, “What does the moon think of me? How does Mars feel about me today?” No it burns, it shines. Does the sun ask itself, “Am I as big as other suns in other galaxies?” No, it burns, it shines.

Andrea Dworkin, Our blood: prophecies and discourses on sexual politics (1976)

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Shaw + Glasses

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02.11.15

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There should be just one safe place in the world, I mean this world. People get hurt here. People fall down and stay down and I don’t like the way the song goes.

Richard Siken, from “Road Music” (via theclassicsreader)