Vengefulness Is Obsolete To Me. Sometimes Your Absence In Someone’s Life Really Is Enough. There Is

Omg what if I was completely free isn’t that cute

Seeing yourself as capable and being able to make decisions calmly and on your own terms is a bigger life upgrade than any job or life opportunity itself could validate or offer

Bruno Barbey. China. Guangxi province. 1980.

a story in two images (x, x)

do not let anybody convince you that the world was built for two. do not ever ever buy into the idea that once you’re married or once you’re in a committed and long term relationship with somebody, that’s all you need to get by in life. do not let anyone convince you that you’re supposed to go at it alone either. do not let anybody make you believe that you’re better off alone. it’s no way to live. the world was built for communities full of love and compassion and the desire to extend oneself for the wellbeing of another. it is in your best interest and humanity’s best interest to learn how to be in communities again. do not let them take away from you what makes life transcendental and special.

one of the funniest things abt this white collar job so far is that i get to see how fucking long people take for the tiniest things. "please paste this text into a separate document and send it to me whenever you're able to this week" i mean shit, man, i know what it's like to take weeks for a 2 minute task, but that's wild even for my standards. like yeah i can probably find the time to press the copy and paste buttons sometime this week

Hello, I won't take much of your time. I'll just say that we can no longer bear all this hunger, siege, and death. We're truly exhausted. I've written dozens of posts since my Tumblr debut. Many have supported and helped me, but many have also been opposed and abused by ruthless, unscrupulous, and Zionist people. I came to say: If any of you can help in any way, whether by donating, sharing, or anything else, please help us. We are being torn apart by hunger. And when I say torn apart, hunger is truly tearing us apart. I want a normal life with water, electricity, and food. I want to live in peace and sleep without fear. You can help me now by finding the scarce and expensive food. I hope the crossing will open soon so I can escape the horrors of war. So, I'm here to ask for your help. Follow my blog, share this post, and donate to me. Sorry for the inconvenience and thank you for your time.

This is my donation link if you are able please donate and thank you

When the painter said, OK, you guys, take off your clothes! I startled at the plural, assuming I’d been engaged to model by myself. But then the dark-skinned god I knew as Aaron from my Econ class unzipped his jeans, and dropped them, grinning, on the floor. So I did, too, and clambered up beside him on the plywood box that elevated us above the clutch of paint-stained easels. Thoughtfully, the students posed our naked bodies. Someone fluffed the crispy hair between my legs into a dark brown bristling fan. And someone pinched the sides of Aaron’s face to pinken up his cheeks. Privately, I installed myself inside that mental space where I had hidden as a child when the world could be aborted no other way …

It was part of my plan to walk unclothed among the portraits my unclad body had provoked. So when we broke for lunch, the students lunging in a herd out back to smoke, I did. If you had asked me then why I modeled, I’d have said, to overcome my bourgeois insecurities, to combat my fear of what might happen if I showed myself completely naked to someone else. But if you asked me now? I’d describe the privilege of walking among a museum of strangers’ images devoted to oneself, and tell you what a privilege it was to see myself the varied ways that others did.

Some silly fellow had painted nipples on me the size and shape of frying eggs. Another jokester had shrunk them down as small as M&Ms. But someone serious and sad had shared a vision of my head as a clotted orb of hair and mouth, and brushed in underneath, a body headless as the horseman in the myth. Then I seemed to walk into the darkroom of my mind’s own eye and saw the self I’d always felt inside but never known: a complicated, unsmiling creature with a fear-tinged face. Around her the aura of something golden was fighting with whip-like straps of something black. She was staring straight into the future, trying to get out, trying to conceal her fear, completely unaware of how it glistened and glowed, and of how irresistible it was for the artist to spread it across the canvas so that everyone could see.

kate daniels, when I was the muse