Latest Posts by onaestorm - Page 3

guillermo and nandor / hands

DID YOU KNOW I RECENTLY HAD A BROTHER DIE, TOO?

the bear / phoebe waller-bridge / lilly dancyger / david byrne / dan pearce / suzy kassem / toni morrison / joseph fink / rabbi joseph telushkin / emily dickinson / richard siken / lone twin network / aanchal malhotra / frank ocean / gabrielle calvocoressi / maurice sendak

MICHAEL & NATALIE BERZATTO

maurice sendak / the bear (2022- ) / jean anouilh / @starpeace

DOMINIC FIKE Photographed by Harmony Korine for Marc Jacobs

James Waterston as Gerard Pitts in Dead Poets Society (1989)

Dead Poets Society (1989)

Autumn. Twilight. Fire lit. Restless. Solitary. She sits. She goes to window. She stands. She sits. Twilight. She thinks. She writes. She sighs. Twilight. Solitary.

James Joyce, from Solitary Hotel in “The Complete Works”

The tragedy of Black family

“Some moment when the moon was blood / Then surely I was born;”

— G.K. Chesterton, from “The Donkey,” written c. September 1910

RED, WHITE & ROYAL BLUE | Alex & Henry + hands

Alex and Henry's relationship progression through their hand-touching/hand-holding.

—your song, elton john

A questão sobre escrever é que não sei se vou acabar me curando ou me destruindo.

— “Outros Jeitos de Usar a Boca”, Rupi Kaur.

ETHEL CAIN SHOT BY SILKEN WEINBERG FOR VOGUE

(WEARING CUSTOM GIVENCHY)

rip regulus black, you would have loved "reputation" and "midnights"

stevie nicks performing edge of seventeen, 1981 | taylor swift performing august, 2023 (x)

and if we're friends that's just fine- yeah, it happens all the time and I know neither of you are mine so tell me why you told me to choke you ?

-> on ALLEN GINSBERG and LUCIEN CARR

—Friedrich Nietzsche.

“The problem with wanting," he whispered, his mouth trailing along my jaw until it hovered over my lips, "is that it makes us weak.”

I am my mother's daughter when I clean because I'm depressed, and cry when over stimulated. I skip meals and tell everyone I "forgot". I feel my chest heavy with anxiety. I do not ask to be medicated. I am the strong one. The pillar. And I read a book that reminds me of her, but also of me. I hold no sympathy for her, only anger. I did not ask what made her react this why, only why that was her only reaction. I identify her trauma responses, but can't find the solution to my own. I understand her, but hate the traits she has given me. And intergenerational trauma is real, so if I was in my mother when she was in her mother, and my daughter was in my mother when I was in her, then what is a clean slait for any of us? when they say, we become more like our mothers the older we get, do we inherit their ability to bow, and bend, and break but never make a sound? But if I am my mother's trauma, do I scream uncontrollably because my life isn't in my palms? I swore to never be the woman that takes a man's fist, but my own fist is in my mouth as I look into the mirror and ache to shatter it. Am I my mother's trauma when I forgive a man for treating me like I am invaluable? Am I my mother's daughter when I half-jokingly prepare to give up on my dreams, just to be half-heartedly loved? And I pride myself in knowing that I can tell when someone is manipulating me, but then just as shamelessly ask to be manipulated; to be told that I am loved even if it is a lie. Where is the sense in being senseless in the name of love? Am I my mother's daughter when I overshare to a stranger because no one I love, loves me back enough to listen? And if I am a vessel of trauma, what will my daughter be? Am I my mother's trauma when I yearn to be with someone that does not even respect me? And if this is all my mother's, then am I my father's daughter when I look at my mother in detest over the destiny that she has handed over to me?

For My Mother, I love you but i do not like you.

For my mother, I love you but i do not like you. You created me, you made me into what i am. I am simply a mirror of you which is exactly the thing tried so hard not to be. I tried to erase every part of you from myself and yet I have still become you. My anger is yours, I hate my father for what he did to you. I hate myself for the words that spill to you when I am blinded by rage. My tears are yours, they belong to you. The tears I cry for what you’ve done are the same tears I use to mourn you, to mourn what you were and what you could’ve been. I mourn for your childhood that was ripped away when you were most definitely too young, all the while mourning myself for you doing the same to me. You tried your hardest not to, but in your own way you have imparted the very same curse your mother had put onto you. You ruined me and made me in the same brush stroke. I cry for the hatred you have instilled in me towards my own father. It was easy for you to make me hate him, because it was easy to see the wounds and scars he had given me. His hate for me came quick and rough, easily seen at the time, but the hate you showed me could not be seen in an instant. You did not cut me but poisoned me, fated me to die in a slow way, a way that i could not see until it was too late to fix, but i see it now. I both hate you and love you for all you’ve done at the same time. I cannot fix what has happened to you no matter how hard i try, i wish for you to heal from what you refuse to speak about. I realise the reason i am so forgiving towards you is because of all that you’ve been through, but now the scales have fallen from my eyes and i know now that these are not excuses but explanations. I pray that my daughter will not fall victim to the same curse that has run through the woman in our family for too many generations to count. I pray I will not turn her into what I have become. I mourn for you, I mourn for me, and I mourn for my future. I hope to one day truly forgive you for all the pain you’ve caused. I hope to one day be able to truly hold a conversation with you without being afraid you’ll say something you can’t take back. I hope one day we can say “I love you” to each other and truly mean it, but for now, I love you but I do not like you.

bones and all (2022)

screenplay by david kajganich

bones and all dir. luca guadagnino / a primer for the small weird loves 7 writ. richard siken

🌼 musings on august 🌼

Continuar lendo

—mothers

ijeoma umebinyuo // hyatt moore // class of 2013 by mitski // i, tonya (2017) // ? // gustav klimt // ? // lady bird (2017) // i remain in darkness by annie ernaux

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖚𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘: 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗 - august - october 1983

sirius black - lead vocalist, james 'prongs' potter - lead guitarist, remus lupin - bassist, marlene mckinnon - keyboard & backup vocalist, zara pankhurst - replacing peter pettigrew on drums

rita skeeter, journalist for rolling stone: the setlist contains never before heard bonus tracks from their first album 'pirate eyes', and debuts of electrifying new singles from their third, 'white roses for my baby'. black's haunting vocals and remus lupin's dark & mysterious signature style are at the forefront of this tell-all tour, an electric & harmonious blend of styles... whilst dynamite new edition pankhurst makes sure to put on a show.

© photos credited to rita skeeter of 'rolling stone', from the up close and personal edition, 1983

BEN BARNES ‘‘When I was playing Prince Caspian when I was 25, everyone was up announcing “he’s supposed to be thirteen, he’s too old” and then I got cast as the Darkling and everybody said “He’s too old!”, so apparently I’m always too old.’’

“We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.“