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The Tales of Hoffmann | Michael Powell / Emeric Pressburger | 1951

Ann Ayars

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Camisole 1898 UNKNOWN

Source

#NEED to rob this

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Installations by Carlie Trosclair

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...for Simone Weil, the dark night of God's absence, is itself the soul's contact with God. When she speaks of an 'ineffable consolation' that fills the soul after it has renounced everything, renounced even the desire for grace, she does not mean that supernatural love is something distinct from the acceptance of the void. To endure the void, to suffer evil, is our contact with God."

— Susan Taubes, The Absent God

#simone weil

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odious_rot

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“heavy perfumes, whose warm poison – dahlias, lilies, tulips and marigolds – drowning my senses, soul and reason, mingles in their immense confusion memory with Twilight’s glows.”

— Paul Verlaine from Poèmes Saturniens: Paysages Tristes II, Crépuscule du Soir Mystique / Twilight of a Mystical Evening.

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look from selkie's "lucy" collection .

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“Are you making this magic?” “No. You are.”

The Secret Garden (1993), dir. Agnieszka Holland

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The vampire of Toledo Cathedral (or Cain's bite). Late 14th Century.

A rare representation of Cain and Abel's biblical story in which Cain kills Abel by biting him, instead of hitting him with a rock.

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Blind Beast (1969) dir. Yasuzô Masumura

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girls who are doomed by the narrative!! girls who have been dead since the beginning. girls who are dragged into death not kicking and screaming but clinging on to the brink until their fingers ache with the weight of the years they’ve stolen. girls who’s every last words are already etched on the stone of an open and waiting grave.

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Anne Carson, H of H Playbook

[ID: A scan of a few sentences from the aforementioned book, where they’re on a scrap of paper in a collage. They read, “Brief pause. I’m walking backward into my own myth. I was trying to walk out.” The last sentence is crossed out in pencil. End of description.]

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Keiths Tower, Aberdeenshire, Scotland

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Francisco Alcaraz’s Saint Teresa of Avila

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“In the just before, we lay on our beds for hours, as if nailed to the cross; or we had sex with Jesus; or we were paralyzed from the waist down; or we bounced off walls in our mania until the factory owners or the nuns or our mothers and fathers were obliged to tie us up; or, when we could not find a razor or scissors to make ourselves bleed, we used our teeth; or we touched ourselves in public and laughed because it felt good and because it was outrageous. There were so many ways we didn’t make sense.”

— Maud Casey, excerpt from City of Incurable Women