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okkvlt:

Credit
"When the starry sky, a vista of open seas or a stained glass window shedding purple beams fascinate me, there is a cluster of meaning, of colors, of words, of caresses, there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise, shroud me, carry me away, and sweep me beyond the things that I see, hear, or think. The “sublime” object dissolves in the raptures of a bottomless memory. It is such a memory, which, from stopping point to stopping point, remembrance to remembrance, love to love, transfers that object to the refulgent point of the dazzlement in which I stray in order to be."ulia Kristeva, Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

il y a 56 minutes + 14 notes

oorequiemoo:

oorequiemoo:

unknown photographer, france, ca 1900
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oorequiemoo:

oOrequiemOo:
Photography by Clarence h.White
"

What I keep of you I keep in my stomach

where it is easiest to feel empty,
easiest to feel full.

After everything, don’t we get
to assign our organs these metaphors?

Because something inside the body gathers
each loss, contains it.

Call it the heart’s debris, all that we
let go of that lodges elsewhere:

Between lungs, in duodenum,
sleeping dormant in clavicle spoon.

I wouldn’t be surprised if part of me is in your spleen.

History doesn’t go anywhere,
just instills patterns into what must be

the musculature of memory—
hippocampus, thalamus, stomach, ribs.

Our bodies are crowded
with the pieces of other people

we carry with us from room to room.
Behind our knees they knot and cinch

ligaments to our previous lives,
mapping each way home.

"
Allison Titus, “Historiography for the Body.”   (via literarymiscellany)

il y a 1 heure + 18 notes

pradafied:

Photographed by David Hamilton, Les Demoiselles- 1973
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flyartproductions:

I luh you luh you luh you papi
Orpheus and Eurydice (1864), Frederic Leighton / I Luh Yah Papi, Jennifer Lopez ft. French Montana
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the60sbazaar:

Mirella Petteni by Gian Paolo Barbieri
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theladyintweed:

Dolce and Gabbana 
"… And that wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end."One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez (via wordsnquotes)

il y a 1 heure + 51 notes

"Don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems."
Marty McConnell, ”Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell.” (via
literarymiscellany)

il y a 1 heure + 21 notes

mimbeau:

Kurt Otto-Wasow
Montmartre - Paris 1950s
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 Painting by John William Godward
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transistoradio:

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Sancta Lilias (1874), oil on canvas, 45.7 x 48.3 cm. Collection of Tate, UK. Via WikiPaintings.