shoulderblades: girl’s residence, kishin shinoyama, 1997

An 8 year-old Polish girl, Gadające glowy (Talking Heads) by Krzysztof Kieślowski, 1980

“She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close.”

— Neil Gaiman  (via diamondsunbursts)

(Source: whitesleep, via word-digest)

i want to be a fucking feminist and wear a fucking peter pan collar. so fucking what?

zooey deschanel

every woman is a rebel, and usually in wild revolt against herself.

oscar wilde

i had thought i could stave off loss through photographing. but the pictures show me how much i’ve lost.

nan goldin

falling out of touch with all my friends

are somewhere getting wasted

hope they’re staying glued together

i have arms for them

we are all such radiant fuck ups.

cody gohl

“We just have to open ourselves up to the truth: we will hurt each other, often. Life is crazy beautiful, but it is crazy and sometimes spins out of control. And that’s okay. That’s how it should be. It’s okay to lose the grip, to slip a little. Because we all do and maybe that makes it easier to forgive one another — people will disappoint you and wrong you, but they will also defend you and fight for you and bowl you over with kindness. We are all such radiant fuckups — we have to remember this and love one another for it. And even when it seems impossible, we have to be good to one another, to extend an open hand, to try to bring the light back in to illuminate the darkness.” - Cody Gohl, We Will Hurt Each Other

I remember the ponies behind the fence, muscular,
breathing, how they worried the grass.
The ponies said: This day astounds us. The field is green.
We love nothing better than space and more space.
Ah, they knew what I needed to know.
They lived in their bodies.
If the ponies wanted to kiss, they kissed.
They moved like the shadows of airplanes.
They knew no hatred, but fear they understood.
The sky was shot clear with blue.
After the picnic, we gathered the tablecloth.
As we left, I could still see the ponies,
crowding one another, free and unbroken.

Spencer Reece