Reblogged from ikilledjackjohnson
Peculiar Susceptibility
This is a tumblelog, kinda like a blog but with short-form, mixed-media posts with stuff I like. Scroll down a bit to start reading, or a bit more to read more about me.
um omg?
whoever runs the NotTildaSwinton twitter is a literal genius and a god among us
Reblogged from feathereaux
“
I brought my love to bear, and then you died.
It was the gangrene ate you to the bone
My mother said: you died like any man.
How shall I age into that state of mind?
I am the ghost of an infamous suicide,
My own blue razor rusting at my throat.
O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at
Your gate, father - your hound-bitch, daughter, friend.
It was my love that did us both to death.
It was the gangrene ate you to the bone
My mother said: you died like any man.
How shall I age into that state of mind?
I am the ghost of an infamous suicide,
My own blue razor rusting at my throat.
O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at
Your gate, father - your hound-bitch, daughter, friend.
It was my love that did us both to death.
— Sylvia Plath, from “Electra on Azalea Path” (via awritersruminations)
Reblogged from persephone's ascent
It reads:
Struck by the abstract nature of absence; yet it’s so painful, lacerating. Which allows me to understand abstraction somewhat better: it is absence and pain, the pain of absence—perhaps therefore love?
After his mother died, Barthes grappled with the complexities of grief, loss, and mourning by writing fragments on more than 300 index cards. The cards were eventually published as Mourning Diary.
(via Maud Newton)
Reblogged from persephone's ascent
Season 1, ep. 4: Lies, Lies, Lies.
Bette Porter (played by Jennifer Beals) comes face to face with her all-time favorite artist’s last portrait and is so overcome by the significance of the event and the beauty of this particular work that she bursts into tears and faints.My favorite scene from the entire seasonal collection of the L word. Trust. People talk about Stendhal syndrom in a sort of half mocking manner, but watching this clip, I believed every minute of it. There is no one way to experience being overwhelmed with something that you love so keenly, so visually. the experiences vary, but that feeling, you now it when you first sense it. You acknowledge it, you respect it. You certainly can’t control it, because the moment, the fact that you got to look at something so precious to you, or to humanity, feels so undeserved.
Peggy Peabody: You know Stendhal?
Bette Porter: The French art critic. He went to Florence. He saw the Caravaggio. And he burst into tears and then he fainted. The work of art was so beautiful and moving he couldn’t withstand the impact. The Stendhal syndrome.
Peggy Peabody: ‘My head thrown back, I let my gaze dwell on the ceiling. I underwent the profoundest experience of ecstasy I had ever encountered. I had attained that supreme degree of sensibility where the divine intimations of art merge with the impassioned sensuality of emotion.’
Reblogged from PURGATORY
“
To take photographs one has to be like a monk, to achieve a maximum degree of concentration, like with meditation, and at the same time possess a delirious disposition. This is why I say that photographing is a meeting place for that sort of delirium and absolute peace. Photography is made up of those two moments. They combine to create dynamite.
— Bernard Plossu (via rikardosterlund)
Reblogged from Journal of a Nobody
Reblogged from Eviscerate, Young Captain
Soliloquy [speaking alone]
Live performance
PLAY, Paradise Row, London 2009
Wax has been used as a preservative for centuries; rubbed onto delicate surfaces, sealed inside glass jars or even prolonging the longevity of fragile flowers. This piece attempts to capture a moment of contemplation and reflection. A transitory state, a fleeting glance frozen in time for the duration of the event.
Reblogged from shinyslingback's art blog
“
This enormous, murky river with its deep current, this is the familiar river, but familiar from where.
— Péter Nádas, Parallel Stories, trans. Imre Goldstein (via proustitute)
Reblogged from A la recherche du temps perdu
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