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i don’t know who this woman is. but these two nameless photos of that i think are both of her have shown up in two separate threads of photos of lesbians, a month apart. and i picked them out to attach to without even realizing it was the same woman at first. and i am hopelessly attached to her

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edit — her name is asia. both photos were taken by chloe sherman in san francisco, in 1996. [x] [x]

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drawings of girls 🌷

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what he said!

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“Varda made a movie about Demy’s early life in war-time France as he was dying. It was completed the week after his death. Jacquot de Nantes is still often shown in French schools and Varda is astonished by the profundity of the questions children ask about the film. “One child said: ‘How do you remember the memory of somebody else?’ And I said because I love him. And he said is that enough? And I said yes.””

— Agnès Varda: ‘I am still alive, I am still curious. I am not a piece of rotting flesh’

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Days and Nights in the Forest (1970)

dir. Satyajit Ray

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Tove Jansson (right), creator of Moomin, and her life partner Tuulikki Pietilä (left), an accomplished Finnish artist

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Germaine Greer in Nova, October 1970. Photographs by Roger Stowell.

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Krishna with gopis, by Shammi Bannu Sharma, Rajasthan

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A young Camille Paglia

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Jewelry Segment. Designed by Jessie M. Preston ca. 1900-1917, Chicago. Mother-of-pearl mounted in silver.

(Source: artic.edu)

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Minority

I was born a foreigner. I carried on from there to become a foreigner everywhere I went, even in the place planted with my relatives, six-foot tubers sprouting roots, their fingers and faces pushing up new shoots of maize and sugar cane.

All kinds of places and groups of people who have an admirable history would, almost certainly, distance themselves from me.

I don’t fit, like a clumsily translated poem;

like food cooked in milk of coconut where you expected ghee or cream, the unexpected aftertaste of cardamom or neem.

There’s always a point that where the language flips into an unfamiliar taste; where words tumble over a cunning tripwire on the tongue; were the frame slips, the reception of an image not quite tuned, ghost-outlined, that signals, in their midst, an alien.

And so I scratch, scratch through the night, at this growing scab on black and white. Everyone has the right to infiltrate a piece of paper. A page doesn’t fight back. And, who knows, these lines may scratch their way into your head – through all the chatter of community, family, clattering spoons, children being fed – immigrate into your bed, squat in your home, and in a corner, eat your bread,

until, one day, you meet the stranger sliding down your street, realise you know the face simplified to bone, look into its outcast eyes and recognise it as your own.

Imtiaz Dharker

(Source: http://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/)

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Eunice de Souza

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~ Circus cup decorated with flowers and birds

Place of origin: Varpelev, Denmark

Period: Roman

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eunice de souza in conversation with imtiaz dharker 

scanned from talking poems: conversations with poets (oxford india) 

imitiaz dharker ph. by madhu kapparath