\va-de'me-kəm\ Latin, Come with me. A book for reference to be carried around at all times.
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Study of Drapery, Alfons Mucha, 1900
SWEET!
WAIT.
vagina fruit
dancing © stefano rapino
Sharon Tate
did i take your chair?
(by evening sun.)
David Edelstein says, “I wish that Moonrise Kingdom were as much of a showcase for the performers as it is for the cinematographer and designers, but this is stand-in-your-place-and-say-your-lines acting, the stars essentially donating their likable selves for a higher cause.”
“Each person feels the pain in his own way, each has his own scars. So I think I’m as concerned about fairness and justice as anybody. But what disgusts me even more are people who have no imagination. The kind T.S. Eliot calls ‘hollow men’. People who fill up that lack of imagination with heartlessbits of straw, not even aware of what they’re doing. Callous people who throw a lot of empty words at you, trying to force you to do what you don’t want to do… Gays, lesbians, straights, feminists, fascist pigs, communists, Hare Krishnas - none of those bother me. I don’t care what banner they raise. But what I can’t stand are hollow people. When I’m with them I can’t bear it, and end up saying things I shouldn’t.”
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
“Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can’t ride you unless your back is bent.”
Martin Luther King, Jr.
I want to build bones with you. I want to take nothing to something. I want to grow space into structure. But I want it to be beautiful. Not functional necessarily. But inspiring and grateful and pure and honest. It can be imperfect as long as it’s accepting. I want to do this with you because I see more love in you than I’ve seen in anything before. You’re alive. You hurt. You move and moan and sigh and cry. You push. You encourage. You challenge. And most of all, you stand there strongly but glow unknowingly. I can’t list all of the characteristics of a skilled builder, but I think I can work my way backwards from you.
This, is a promise.
“When you are surrounded by something, you’re in the midst of it—its middle. If you’re in a mist, you’re just in a fog.”
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
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