Anonymous (via barecontact)
use your body, use it to put me to sleep, your body ooh,
soothe my soul, so beautiful
calm me down.
what are you afraid of, i know that you are
Frédéric Fontenoy’s slit scan photography series Metamorphose. It’s beautiful in the most eerie way. I’ve never seen anything like it.
we all gain weight in our own ways. some of us majestically pack on the pounds, others become engrossed in the flubber of our past cheeseburgers and fries. some walk the streets and feel the harsh eyes watching the aftermath of that last stride quake through our thighs. others see the wide eyed stares at our vivacious curves as we turn the corner. our skirts can be decreed too short by some, and too long by others. we can be told to eat a salad, and told to eat a dick in the matter of two blocks. somehow the female body has been deemed a watering hole for unwanted comments and criticisms. somehow we are trained to accept this as reality, and sometimes it burns holes in our hearts and taints our perception of humanity.
on days where you don’t feel your beauty, when you feel hollow and dank. the slightest touch sends a shiver down your brittle bones. words float in and across your face. but no one is there to touch you in the meaningful ways, no one is there to add a touch of colour to your cheeks. in solitude you find the cobwebbed corners of your soul. in solitude you find the unkept beds, the dusty shelves, the rusty pipes.
what a lovely passage from Winona Ryder’s personal diary (via free-winona)
I wish I could write in this fucking thing without the fear of it being read or fucking published one day. Hell, I’m not that famous. Who the fuck cares anyway? I’ll probably be dead by then, so it won’t really matter. Unless my kids find this shit embarrassing … .
I wish I were in San Francisco, in the Sunset district. I remember going there once with G. I got so much sand in my shoes. He had a skateboard, and we were walking on the beach. I felt so much older than him, but part of me didn’t … . Boy, did I blow him off. I remember he was so poor, as poor as I used to be. He was so dirty. He was so sweet. I didn’t like him, though – not like that. Maybe for a minute, but it went away … Right now I wish I had a little apartment in San Francisco. I wish I wasn’t doing what I was doing. No, that’s wrong. I like doing what I’m doing – I just don’t like parts of it. Classic, huh? This sounds so classic: actors bitching and moaning about wanting to be like everybody else. But if they were, they’d just want to be movie stars. I can live how I want. That’s that. No one put this wall up. No one else knelt down around me and laid the bricks. I did it myself. That’s why I’m so exhausted. Or is it just jet lag?
I love this line in Tom Waits’ “San Diego Serenade”: “Never felt my heart strings till I nearly went insane.” I’m having a beer. Oh, fucking boy! Isn’t that exciting? It actually is, if you think about it. For me, at least. These are things I never do because I think too much. I think ahead. I think behind. I think sideways. I think it all. If it exists, I’ve fucking thought of it."