Breathtaking views show the stars, Milky Way, airglow, and light pollution over New Zealand skies.
“Here are images I captured during last months from New Zealand. Great country to catch colors of airglow almost everywhere…” - Petr Horálek
Recently my grandmother found out I’m queer. Her response was to tell me that she disapproves of me living with my “friend” (i.e. my girlfriend) and that I should give up my vile queer ways and become a Christian (Lol). She even sent me a bible. Here are its remains, which I made into black-out poetry.
Poem 1: Bisexual (from Leviticus 19:9)— “Have sexual relations with her. Have sexual relations with him. Have sexual relations with both a woman and a man. Have sexual relations with yourself. Vomit on everyone who does not respect you.”
Poem 2: Fisting (from Judges 8:5)— “water/ lap the water/ drink/go down to drink/your hands/go down/I give into your hands/go down/encouraged/down/on the seashore/the whole hand/your hand/inside/I get to the edge/and shout/grasping/crying out/Beth/Beth/Beth/Beth/Beth/God/I came”
Poem 3: A Letter to the Exiles (from Jeremiah 28:13) — “Ze said: ‘Do not let lies name you, nor harm your heart. Gather. Raise the sword against them. They scorn and reproach, for they have not listened— again and again have not listened.’ “
Poem 4: Child (from Ezekiel 16:22) — “Your father and your mother rubbed salt in. No one looked on you with pity or had compassion enough for you, for on the day you were born you were despised. Live! Grow. I looked at you and saw you were enough.”
Poem 5: Father (from Ezekiel 16:22) — “You never adored us. You became very angry. You took some out on us. Your sons and daughters were not enough? You slaughtered— in all your detestable practices— our youth.”
Poem 6: Misandry (from Acts 27:41) — “Dangerous men should be broken.”
Lydia in the soundproof room + #38
just wanted to try something a little different to what I usually do :)
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
you visit the restaurant by accident and you don’t believe in fate because this isn’t a book this isn’t a movie this isn’t anything remotely magical or set in stone this is life and you aren’t even thinking about anything besides avoiding getting soaked to the bone when you duck inside the old diner with checkerboard tiling and stools that look worn but in a way that suggests that those who sat on them had stories to tell
“we’re closed”
you’re shaking water off at the door, nearly wringing out your sweater, brown hair darker than usual and even more of a mess, and all in all you look like you climbed out of a swimming pool after being shoved in and it’s pretty pathetic and maybe that’s why when you look up there’s a slight pause before the voice adds on a casual (and amused, you swear, with slight annoyance at the fact)
“but you can stay. i stay behind late, anyway”
you’re grateful, though, you are, and you flash him a crooked sort of grin as you make your way over to the counter and plop down on a stool. maybe you’re being too friendly. a booth seat would have said a simple “thanks” but sitting on a stool, sitting this close, being face to face, all adds up to a “thank you now let’s talk”
but, what the hell
you like to talk
and the boy in front of you, tall, lanky, with blonde hair a tangled mess, strands going from light in the front, dark in the back, and beads and feathers dangling from one side, gives you a run for your money in the hair department, and you can’t really tell in the shitty lighting but you’re sure there’s a scar running down from the bridge of his nose to one cheek, and his eyes are blue, not brightly or vividly so and more subdued and steely and maybe that’s what makes them more interesting
and you’re intrigued
and you’ve been staring
and he’s noticed
and you don’t have a plate of food in front of you to look down at and fiddle with when he blinks at you, blue meeting green, slight bemusement in the arches of his brows and you can’t think of something to say why can’t you think of something to say you always have something to say. that’s what you do. but the words are stuck in your throat and your wit has ran dry. and your voice lacks some of its usual liveliness and measured pride, importance, as you finally will yourself to speak. and he wordlessly pours you some coffee that he made fresh which doesn’t help the small fluttering in your gut, the bobbing of your adam’s apple as you swallow a few times, grab the cup, nearly drain half of it even though it’s scalding
“lovely weather we’re having”
and, thankfully, nature decides to lend a helping hand and the wind picks up even more after your words, rain hitting harder, thunder rumbling
and it’s a ridiculous comment, it’s not even funny, it doesn’t even have your usual bite of sarcasm to it, it’s weak, it’s a dampened attempt at humor, your throat burns
but, even in the shitty lighting, you swear you see his lips twitch
and you decide that you want to stay as long as you can
and you decide that you’ll ask for some more coffee because it can’t hurt to ask
“pretty lovely, yeah”
and you decide that the calculated, almost languid-sounding sort of quality of his words is nice and you won’t ask for more of those but you’ll try your damn hardest to get more
and you decide already that you want to come back again some time (multiple times)
and you decide that you really, really want to see him smile
the blonde boy pours you more coffee, and you drop a twenty on the table even though you have no plans on leaving until he does, and he looks at the bill, starts to protest, but you dismiss him with a wave of your hand and words about troubling him at such a late hour
and he, oh god, he does, you didn’t think you’d see it so soon, and sure everyone loves instant gratification but the way his lips settle into a smile is almost too much and it almost makes you forget that it’s raining because his smile is sunshine. pure, raw sunshine. it’s raining. it’s thundering. you’re soaked. you feel warm
“thank you”
you both say it at the same time and you both chuckle, his quieter, yours louder, and god, this isn’t a book, this isn’t a movie, and this isn’t fate or magic
but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s something
and he’s something
and you’re going to come by again
Part of the Art of How to Train Your Dragon 2 book signing and gallery show/charity auction, opening Saturday, June 21st 2014, at Gallery Nucleus. Preview prints available HERE.
Staring Contest by Alessandro Carloni
Backseat Driver by Clio Chiang / Store
How to Play With Your Dragon by Ariana Oh
Visit Berk: The Land of Dragons by Jessica Forer
Toothless on Top by Ryan Savas
In all the aeons we have lost nothing, we have gained nothing - not a speck, not a grain, not a breath. The universe is simply a sealed, twisting kaleidoscope that has reordered itself a trillion trillion trillion times over.
Each baby, then, is a unique collision - a cocktail, a remix - of all that has come before: made from molecules of Napoleon and stardust and comets and whale tooth; colloidal mercury and Cleopatra’s breath: and with the same darkness that is between the stars between, and inside, our own atoms.
When you know this, you suddenly see the crowded top deck of the bus, in the rain, as a miracle: this collection of people is by way of a starburst constellation. Families are bright, irregular-shaped nebulae. Finding a person you love is like galaxies colliding. We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, perambulating micro-universes - we have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely fact of our existences. The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again. Don’t you dare waste a second of it thinking something better will happen when it ends. Don’t you dare.
Elizabeth Taylor/Angelina Jolie Audrey Hepburn/Natalie Portman Marilyn Monroe/Scarlett Johansson
direct photo collage (not edited) by George Chamoun
Sylvia Plath
fuck every single time that last line gets quoted without the rest
(via the-smurf-on-fire)
Embrace your differences and the qualities about you that you think are weird. Eventually, they’re going to be the only things separating you from everyone else.