"মুক্ত হও, শুদ্ধ হও, পূর্ণ হও।
Be free, be pure, be whole."
তাসের দেশ, রবীন্দ্রনাথ ঠাকুর
— “The Land of Cards”, Rabindranath Tagore
(Source: streetlampheights, via maza-dohta)
Woman Photographs Herself Receiving Strange Looks in Public
“I now reverse the gaze and record their reactions to me while I perform mundane tasks in public spaces. I seek out spaces that are visually interesting and geographically diverse. I try to place myself in compositions that contain feminine icons or advertisements. Otherwise, I position myself and the camera in a pool of people…and wait.
The images capture the gazer in a microsecond moment where they, for unknowable reasons, have a look on their face that questions my presence. Whether they are questioning my position in front of the lens or questioning my body size, the gazer appears to be visually troubled that I am in front of them.”
Photographer: Haley Morris-Cafiero
Project: Wait Watchers
Thought this was actually really cool and I’d share it with you guys! Takes a lot to get up there and do something like this. Love it!
this is such a fucking important project to me because i am constantly stared at in public in a negative way and turned into some disgusting object for the amusement of others and this is a peaceful way to confront those people
turning the spectators into the spectacle
she’s one of the professors at my college, and I have so much respect for her. She’s a really chill person.
so about that whole thin privilege thing
In love on South Congress - Austin, TX - April 2011
"I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment—we are all defined by something we can’t change."
Simon Van Booy
, from “The Illusion of Separateness” (via hiddenshores
"My backseat is lined with
Mcdonald’s bags because I can’t
remember the last time I cooked, and now
I have to throw away all the expired food in the fridge
This is a waste, I am a waste.
One day I will cook, one day I will listen to myself,
one day I will stop skipping meals for naps.
I called into work and canceled on my friends
I don’t know how to do anything else except for
look sick and busy.
I get tired.
I get t-ired of taking care of myself.
I get t-i-red of being someone.
Pretty girl, smart girl, skinny girl, happy girl,
if I can wear it on my mouth
I can cover what’s in the heart.
I am lies, and people are believers.
My mom’s voice rings in my head and she’s saying,
“Nothing else matters as long as
your face is pretty.”
I know this is a metaphor for how much I hide
even from myself.
I am either too avoidant or too indulgent
I am not good at loving people,
I am good at pretending.
This isn’t a pity story,
this is about how I don’t fight.
This is about the difference between who I was
last year and right now,
and how there is too much.
I take everything to heart
and I follow emotional conversations with “I don’t care.”
I am paradoxes,
I am defense mechanisms,
I can’t be broken if
you don’t hurt me.
is still art.
Loneliness is living alone in a studio
miles away from all my friends,
and telling others it’s my castle
amidst the worn down neighborhood where I dream about
how everything comes alive.
But the only thing coming alive is the
death of me.
Loneliness is sleeping fifteen hours a day
and calling it the practice of lucid dreaming.
I wanted to write about how I am the sea
despite all of this,
despite how much of a coward I am,
(that is there something left of me)
but then I remembered that I always
turn into a tsunami."
"Why a Poet’s Mind is Not Beautiful,"
"I remember someone saying that all human creativity is a desperate attempt to occupy the brief space or endless gap between birth and death.) We would like to think that art remakes us in some way, deepens us, makes us ‘better’ people."
it’s okay because there are always love poems to read, always other worlds to be in, loving them from far away, living in them close by. this is about how we get lost in the words that we wish were ours, this is about the songs that set the mood for something other than right now. this is how you drown out the noise. this is how i turn the space between you and me into art. this is not a metaphor for you, this is a metaphor for a poor excuse.