Sep 25, 2014
90 notes

is also loading a gun

anneboyer:

pull your hair out by the handfuls in front of strangers in socially distressing locations: sephora, family court, the lobbies of banks, in whatever location at which you do your paid work, while in conversation with your landlord, at the gate of ft. leavenworth prison, however in the gaze of men.  leave clumps of your hair in the woods, on the prairies, in the quick trip parking lots, by the dumpster where you used to find your books, in front of every bar at which the conventionally feminine appearance earned you and your friends pitchers of domestic beer, at the intersections at which you waited for the light to turn.  for your own pleasure, put your head out the window of the car and let the wind blow the hair off your head.  let your friends cut locks of your hair off and tie the locks of it in black ribbons to give to other friends to leave in socially distressing locations: to scatter at ports, at national monuments, inside heroic architectures built to make ordinary people feel small and stupid, against harassers, rapists, and the police. pull your pubic hair out in large clumps from the root send it in unmarked envelopes to technocrats and oligarchs. leave your leg hair at the superfund site you once lived near. when your eyelashes fall out send them as a reverse wish to every person who has, at your illness, disappeared. your hair will fall out onto every surface you come near: it will fall into new alphabets and new words.  read these words to discover the etiology of your illness: know the new alphabets only spell “capital.” if you are lucky you will read another word that means “illness has turned you into an armament” and also in the bald spots, you will read strategies for how to weaponize every toxic and putrefying cell against what you hate and what hates you.  as you see a weapon in your falling hair also you will see your body as it falls is a weapon, also as it doesn’t fall.  in this new theory your friend will point out that caring for you is now to care for the arms. you have turned your bed into an armory: everyone who brings you a glass of water now is also loading a gun.

Sep 20, 2014
2,975 notes
styleandthefamilytunes:

"Fashion is a vampiric thing, it’s the hoover on your brain. That’s why I wear the hats, to keep everyone away from me. They say, ‘Oh, can I kiss you?’ I say, ‘No, thank you very much. That’s why I’ve worn the hat. Goodbye.’ I don’t want to be kissed by all and sundry. I want to be kissed by the people I love."
Isabella Blow

styleandthefamilytunes:

"Fashion is a vampiric thing, it’s the hoover on your brain. That’s why I wear the hats, to keep everyone away from me. They say, ‘Oh, can I kiss you?’ I say, ‘No, thank you very much. That’s why I’ve worn the hat. Goodbye.’ I don’t want to be kissed by all and sundry. I want to be kissed by the people I love."

Isabella Blow

(via arabellesicardi)

Sep 3, 2014
20,915 notes

(Source: sayandrew, via powderdoom)

Sep 3, 2014
1,009 notes

(Source: fuckyeahladygaga)

Aug 30, 2014
1,418 notes

(Source: zoomar, via bijouworld)

Aug 21, 2014
541 notes

http://arabellesicardi.com/post/95250553206/just-like-imagine-finding-marie-antoinettes-last

arabellesicardi:

just like imagine finding marie antoinette’s last scent. imagine finding your fave heroine’s last tube of lipstick, or their brush, or their mascara. imagine that power, that potency. something they touched, this symbol of vanity and obligation and power and agency, something you’ve mirrored the use of long after their death, across space and time and generations and deaths and births and life. same rituals. the spray behind the neck, the wrist. you smell them in the air. pop the tube open, their last lipstick, this kiss of death and beeswax — smells like powder and promises that you’re gonna be as badass as them, if you swipe it on. this chalice of a thing, of potential. i used to break into old houses sometimes, when i was renovating a house that was almost mine — i’d come across old things all the time. old compacts, lockets, wedding photos. i’d sit in old claw foot tubs and listen to whitney houston and watch the ceiling slowly crumble in outrage at my temporary occupancy. i always wanted to find the old makeup of a dead mother, or a girl like me. can you imagine what it must have been like to find the last perfume vial of marie antoinette? can you imagine? i do. 

i wanna find joan of arc’s bobby pins, or something. i want that kind of drive. i wanna hold that power in my hands. this rageful girl with god’s ear and the power of france behind her. imagine? imagine. your hair twisting back with the force that kept back hers. divine!!!!! divine. divine. the divine. 

Aug 15, 2014
1,381 notes

(Source: lanascola, via fuckyeahladygaga)

Jul 11, 2014
13,662 notes
supermodelgif:

Alexander McQueen S/S 1999

"O tell us poet, what do you do?- I praise.But those dark, deadly, devastating ways, how do you bear them, suffer them? - I praise.”Rilke

supermodelgif:

Alexander McQueen S/S 1999

"O tell us poet, what do you do?
- I praise.
But those dark, deadly, devastating ways, how do you bear them, suffer them?
- I praise.”

Rilke

(via bbook)

Jul 11, 2014
619,919 notes

owlturdcomix:

We go forward.

Devastating

(via alcopopstar)

Jun 5, 2014
28 notes

monsieur-pfister:

bellyachers:

hey um I did a thing that you can read (if you like!) I was very lucky to be asked to write it + it’s accompanied by beautiful photographs by jacky which was the best surprise

I found out about this 10 minutes before my aerobics class at the gym, so only got to read Laura’s story in a very rushed fashion. I can’t wait to read it again! I only hope that my photos do the story justice (−_−;) 

My housemate is mad talented, yo, and the story is lovely. Go, go.

(via organic-douche)

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