puppetwithapistol:

Jasmine Tookes by Enrique Vega for Harper’s Bazaar Kazakhstan, November 2018.

jpegfantasy:

A beautifully tiled 90s public washroom.

Bathrooms, Collins Design, 2004 📚

Salvaged & scanned by @jpegfantasy 🖨️

sunbathe:

https://www.instagram.com/p/BOHltcvB7gj/

130186:

Gucci Fall 2015

alternative-queens:

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have - but i have it by lana del rey

acrosstheuniverse2007:

acrosstheuniverse2007:

abba lyrics written in all caps read like jenny holzer truisms

THERE’S A FIRE WITHIN MY SOUL

pidge-gunson:

whistlenote:

*throws rocks at God’s window* hey! Why did u make me

Frankenstein by Mary Shelly

vaultie-glass:

hey staff why did all the adult artists get banned but I’m still surrounded by pornbots and terrible harem fantasy game ads with crying abused women in them, I know the answer is MONEY I just really wanted to bring it up and acknowledge how fucked that is

wandering-songstress:

GEMMA CHAN in Valentino Couture at Golden Globes 2019

violentwavesofemotion:

“She looked before she drank. Looking was part of drinking. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, she seemed to ask, 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥? Then she drank. And the air round her became threaded with sensation.”

— Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “Between the Acts,” c. 1941

gemma-antiqua:

Graeco-Roman chalcedony intaglio of Zeus enthroned, with scepter and eagle, dated to 30 BCE to 200 CE. The gold ring itself is modern. Found in the Thorvaldsens Museum.

celestiologies:

I am alive with the witchcraft of the night, of the moon penetrating my skin like a shard of quartz. The moment nettle-twined to every summer spent blooming in the woods, mud in the wound rooting trees in my anxious bloodstream.

A calf back then - don’t you know that I’m intangible now? That I spent summer stitching up dandelion seeds in the breeze and all those milkteeth my mother kept in a silk bag to make a delicate enough skin.

I can’t grow vanilla in this weather but the garden overspills with lavender and I can rub it on my wrists like raw perfume. Elemental rests on my tongue like communion wafer and becomes a synonym of wild.

There’s a witchcraft in this, in taking the whorls of my fingerprints on train windows and building an adoration. A ritual in biting off fragments of fingernail and letting them scatter across the city until I am spread as far as the wind -

 The wind whips the net curtains, whips my spine beneath the stressed silk dressing gown my grandma used to wear, matching the glint of her gold wedding ring on my finger, the spectre of her hands always carried in mine.

 I grow into the dark, again, the woodland of clouds growing over the stars, and if I scream here, a Banshee in the night air, a window ledge, precariously - remember, this is just my heritage.

bell, book, and candle | Lucy Hannah Ryan

vulnerableyounggirl:

Christian Dior, spring 1998 couture

gameraboy1:

Painted Ladies by Jessica Harrison