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You can’t have it all - Barbara Ras

But you can have the fig tree and its fat leaves like clown hands gloved with green. You can have the touch of a single eleven-year-old finger on your cheek, waking you at one a.m. to say the hamster is back. You can have the purr of the cat and the soulful look of the black dog, the look that says, If I could I would bite every sorrow until it fled, and when it is August, you can have it August and abundantly so. You can have love, though often it will be mysterious, like the white foam that bubbles up at the top of the bean pot over the red kidneys until you realize foam’s twin is blood. You can have the skin at the center between a man’s legs, so solid, so doll-like. You can have the life of the mind, glowing occasionally in priestly vestments, never admitting pettiness, never stooping to bribe the sullen guard who’ll tell you all roads narrow at the border. You can speak a foreign language, sometimes, and it can mean something. You can visit the marker on the grave where your father wept openly. You can’t bring back the dead, but you can have the words forgive and forget hold hands as if they meant to spend a lifetime together. And you can be grateful for makeup, the way it kisses your face, half spice, half amnesia, grateful for Mozart, his many notes racing one another towards joy, for towels sucking up the drops on your clean skin, and for deeper thirsts, for passion fruit, for saliva. You can have the dream, the dream of Egypt, the horses of Egypt and you riding in the hot sand. You can have your grandfather sitting on the side of your bed, at least for a while, you can have clouds and letters, the leaping of distances, and Indian food with yellow sauce like sunrise. You can’t count on grace to pick you out of a crowd but here is your friend to teach you how to high jump, how to throw yourself over the bar, backwards, until you learn about love, about sweet surrender, and here are periwinkles, buses that kneel, farms in the mind as real as Africa. And when adulthood fails you, you can still summon the memory of the black swan on the pond of your childhood, the rye bread with peanut butter and bananas your grandmother gave you while the rest of the family slept. There is the voice you can still summon at will, like your mother’s, it will always whisper, you can’t have it all, but there is this.

#barbara ras #poetry #you can't have it all

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Clubs are dark; dancing is dark. There’s something about raw and revealing and grotesque about the need to interact with people, and the need for sex.

Dominick Fernow aka Vatican Shadow/ Prurient/ Rainforest Spiritual Enslavement  

#dominick fernow #prurient #vatican shadow #rainforest spiritual enslavement #industrial techno #noise

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Mallorca, Spain 1958

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Murmurations, Søren Solkær

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Hannah Höch, For a Red Mouth, around 1967

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John Galliano Autumn/Winter 2009 Finale 

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PENNY SLINGER - DON’T LOOK AT ME.

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green sea turtle

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Salt Mountain, Iran

themindcircle.com/salt-glaciers-iran/

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Eustachy Kossakowski - Sea Concert ( Panoramic Sea Happening), 1967  

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@sayaka_asano_

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“Gnarled Goddess” by David Lorenz Winston

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The Herakles knot is an ancient symbol of love and marriage

In Roman weddings, the Herakles knot was tied around the bride and only her groom could untie it. This custom may have been the origin of the phrase ‘tying the knot’ 💍

The knot is found as a healing charm in ancient Egypt, but is also known for its use in ancient Greece and Rome as a protective amulet.

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Midnight Owl by Ningeokuluk Teevee

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An Etruscan bronze wolf head helmet, 6th to 5th century bc. Kept in the Harvard Art Museum