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Poetry.
The earth […] seethes with wounds.
—MARTIN ROBBINS — A Refrain of Roses, (1965)
Il Dolore, Luigi Secchi, 𝟣𝟫𝟣𝟢
Yes, there is probably no better way to describe the present.
Beauty, that is supposed to represent pain, isn’t that somehow perverse? Hmm..
Poem by Lou Reed
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17 June 1926
Letters to Véra by Vladimir Nabokov
Evening Landscape (Ferdinand Knab, 1901)
Dark and sweet, an amazing combination
Mixed feelings
Ecrire, c’est aussi ne pas parler. C’est se taire. C’est hurler sans bruit.
—Marguerite Duras
“Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness;”
—John Keats, Endymion: Book I
True beauty lasts forever ♾
O sweetie, I very much wish Duras to be wrong in this case. As for Keats I’m incapable of doubting.
and if you care anything for football, congratulations on today’s victory over your neighbor to the immediate north.
Mauritania, 1945-1962. Georges-Jacques Duchemin
“Between every two pines is a doorway to a new world.”
—John Muir
𝙾𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎, 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚁𝚘𝚘𝚖: 𝚊 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚢
(𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝟷𝟾𝟾𝟷)
Joy Sullivan, from “(Luck I)”, Instructions for Traveling West
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“Swallows”, by Fernand Cherer
French vintage postcard
“You are no longer trembling, carcass.” This summer the roses are blue; the wood is of glass. The earth, draped in its verdant cloak, makes as little impression upon me as a ghost. It is living and ceasing to live which are imaginary solutions. Existence is elsewhere.
—Andre Breton, Le Manifeste du Surréalisme (1924)
Imagine people who still had manifestos
The Lover’s Embrace on the Medici Fountain, Paris
