The Nymph’s Lament, Claudio Monteverdi.
Fa’ che ritorni il mio; amor com’ei pur fu, o tu m’ancidi, ch’io non mi tormenti più
Tatsumi Hijikata being earth. photo by Eikoh Hosoe for his book Kamaitachi.
The past is not where you left it, Svetko.
It is a ruined city, spackled with grief,
The house, still yellow stucco with pear trees.
Empty swallow nests hang in the eaves
woven with bits of collar and sleeve.
There is a diary open to the words cannot remain here.
— CAROLYN FORCHÉ, The Notebook of Uprising.
at one time on this earth there were three-foot-long dragonflies and giant elk
A Lady Walks in a Garden, opaque watercolor, ink, and gold on paper, Bikaner, India, circa 1730.
unknown source, Japan.
don’t you sometimes wish you lived in a post-apocalyptic wasteland
wandering through ruins looting and looking for hints of lost knowledge
ruins, ruins and decay, air saturated with cyanide and melancholy
put belladonna in my eyedrops
set me aflame on a pyre of toxic spores, wild heather and yew bark
put me in a marble ossuary shaped like a sphere covered in salt standing on a pole in a meadow so at night the deer come and lick it gently their antlers making eerie sounds against the metal
A magical diagram for the binding of enemies and thieves, XVII century.
Cristo velato, Giuseppe Sanmartino.