not sure what i wanna say yet
Ending 2018 & starting 2019 in my favorite place. Is this an omen...? It certainly feels like one🤞🏼✨❤️🎬
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!👻♥️👻 Woooo!!!
Back to work #looks
A girl just wants to cruise, man
My soul is so, so happy. ⚜️☀️
Venmo me $10 and I’ll jump in
Listen guys, I know. I KNOW. It’s not even a big deal !!!
Italian artist and actress Domiziana Giordano, Italian author Francesca Sanvitale, Dino Trappetti and Umberto Terrelli dining al fresco on a terrace overlooking the waters off the coast of the island of Capri, Italy, in August 1980.
To 22— A year of blossoming 🌹
25 years ❤️ Oh, how the world misses you.
“Look at you. You’re young. And you’re scared. Why are you so scared? Stop being paralyzed. Stop swallowing your words. Stop caring what other people think. Wear what you want. Say what you want. Listen to the music you want to listen to. Play it loud as fuck and dance to it. Go out for a drive at midnight and forget that you have school the next day. Stop waiting for Friday. Live now. Do it now. Take risks. Tell secrets. This life is yours. When are you going to realize that you can do whatever you want?” Louise Flory 🌹🎲🖤
My favorite part of school is when you’re nearing the end and teachers suddenly decide they need to cram in as many assignments as possible before the semester is over but fail to realize you also have 5 other classes with teachers all thinking the very same thing so you become a monkey balancing on a tight rope who’s by the way also riding a unicycle and juggling spinning plates that happen to be on fire and just like that your healthy habits go up in flames along with your sleep cycle and boys ask if you’re tired bc you’re not wearing any makeup today and WOW it’s already 3am and I have a speech, paper, and exam tomorrow (today¿ ) but I’M FINE college is #crayZ lololol #librarylyfe #studious #facemasks #studentloans so it’s totally like whatever :- )
“There is a life and there is a death, and there are beauty and melancholy between.” Albert Camus, Notebooks 1935-1942
Currently studying this creature in my Stardom class- With the recent Weinstein drama, its a harsh reminder that time & progress dont often go hand in hand. All of her life, Marilyn just wanted respect.She fantasized about it. A tragic childhood of being tossed around, used, & abused followed her into Hollywood. At this time, though, that was just the name of the game. Upcoming starlets were expected to “put out” and “be respectful” of the big, important executives making their dreams a reality. After all, they were going to make you famous. The least you could do is show some kindness in return..right? But as the world has recently found out, this isnt “old school” thinking, and it doesnt just pertain to Hollywood. This is right now. And if you ask most women, the fact is that this isnt shocking. Erase “Weinstein” and insert any other name for yourself. Its the same story. Marilyn grew so obsessed with wanting to be seen as more than an object, more than “the call-girl next door,” that it eventually killed her...She self-destructed. We need to stop idealizing time periods we think were so great & start making changes to our own here and now. The “lovely 50s” were littered with sexism, adultery, corruption, abuse, & alcoholism, all operating behind the artificial veil of flowery table cloths & TV dinners. I know its easy to wish you were born in another decade, but just remember that not everyone, in fact, very few, have that privilege of thought. Our women deserve better. Our minorities deserve better. We *all* deserve better. Theres not one single type of person that doesnt benefit from everyone being treated equally and with respect. All my life I have looked at Marilyn in the wrong light. I, too, saw her as an object first & a woman second. I had a large painting of her above my bed in high school, but took it down one day when I realized she lacked “substance” and was a bad role model. I instead wanted to put up someone with morals and self-respect...someone “good,” like Audrey Hepburn. Oh how it pains me now to realize how early girls are taught to see each other as competition, as “good” or “bad,” according to a male’s view of their sexuality..pt 2->
“I remember riding a taxi one afternoon between very tall buildings under a mauve and rose sky; I began to bawl because I had everything I wanted and knew I would never be so happy again.” F. Scott Fitzgerald (after the release and consequent fame of This Side Of Paradise, and marriage to Zelda two weeks later )
“Oh, but Paris isn’t for changing planes, it’s… it’s for changing your outlook, for… for throwing open the windows and letting in… letting in la vie en rose.” -Audrey Hepburn as Sabrina Fairchild, Sabrina (1954 )
"Baby, I'm gonna treat you so nice, you're never gonna wanna let me go." #Currently ❤
Bought a sick film camera yesterday at an antique store for $4.95 wish me luuuck🌹🌹🌹
"She must write her self...By writing her self, woman will return to the body which has been more than confiscated from her, which has been turned into the uncanny stranger on display - the ailing or dead figure, which so often turns out to be the nasty companion, the cause and location of inhibitions. Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write your self. Your body must be heard. Only then will the immense resources of the unconscious spring forth." -Hélène Cixous, The Laugh of the Medusa 💚🐍💚 (my queen )
“Everyone should have themselves regularly overwhelmed by Nature.” George Harrison
Even when I'm not thinking of Italy, I'm thinking of Italy. It suddenly spills from my lips like the juice of a bloodied Sicilian orange-- all at once and very messy-- or slowly wafts into conversation like the bewitching aroma of onion and garlic dancing together in sizzling olive oil-- unexpected, comforting, consuming. I'm here. I'm still here, it says. Nothing is about Italy, and yet Everything is about Italy. I see it in the streets I walk, the foods I eat, the people I encounter. It's not the same. Nothing is the same. The stones, the trees, the breads, the fruits, the music, the language, the art, the religion, the people, the authenticity and LUST for life... It's not here and yet I see it everywhere. I see *Her* everywhere. My God, do I see her everywhere. In every goddamn thing I do, I can feel her presence and hear her voice. Memories of us dancing together in the kitchen, cooking side by side, or walking arm in arm on the busy (and rather tiny ) Florentine streets, baring the bitter cold with our jackets zipped up to our necks. Memories of making her laugh so hard we both cried, or sitting at the table hours into the night spilling our hearts out until no more tears were left to fall. It's almost like I can't go a conversation without mentioning how she did it, what she told me, or " well, Norma used to say..." Used to. Past tense. Former. Finished. Removed. Everything's a comparison, a hybrid of its former self. A living, breathing double mirror. Knife; coltello. Bread; pane. Smile; sorriso. Love; amore. Is it better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all? To have ripped out your beating heart only then to put oceans between it? It's crazy how you can spend your entire life wishing for something and finally get it after you'd just given up hope. Home.
SF vibe of z day
“Summer was another country, where the birds Woke us at dawn among the dripping leaves And lent to all our fêtes their sweet approval. The touch of air on flesh was lighter, keener, The senses flourished like a laden tree Whose every gesture finishes in a flower. In those unwardened provinces we dined From wicker baskets by a green canal, Staining our lips with peach and nectarine, Slapping at golden wasps. And when we kissed, Tasting that sunlit juice, the landscape folded Into our clasp, and not a breath recalled The long walk back to winter, leagues away.” --Adrienne Rich, “Holiday”
@gal_gadot , ily
“Cities have often been compared to language: you can read a city, it’s said, as you read a book. But the metaphor can be inverted. The journeys we make during the reading of a book trace out, in some way, the private spaces we inhabit. There are texts that will always be our dead-end streets; fragments that will be bridges; words that will be like the scaffolding that protects fragile constructions. T.S. Eliot: a plant growing in the debris of a ruined building; Salvador Novo: a tree-lined street transformed into an expressway; Tomas Segovia: a boulevard, a breath of air; Roberto Bolano: a rooftop terrace; Isabel Allende: a (magically real ) shopping mall; Gilles Deleuze: a summit; and Jacques Derrida: a pothole. Robert Walser: a chink in the wall, for looking through to the other side; Charles Baudelaire: a waiting room; Hannah Arendt: a tower, an Archimedean point; Martin Heidegger: a cul-de-sac; Walter Benjamin: a one-way street walked down against the flow.” Relingos: The Cartography of Empty Spaces, Valeria Luiselli
“Once, I saw a bee drown in honey, and I understood” – Nikos Kazantzakis,” Report to Greco”
Un giorno in spiaggia !!!!
A Study of Morning Light