Sorealist - Do You Know What A Love Letter Is - Tumblr Blog

Koto Bolofo

“You've got to learn to leave the table when love's no longer being served.” — Nina Simone

Chaka Khan, c. 1974

Ana Mendieta

Shout out to nothing fr. I don’t care

Fiona Apple by Lionel Deluy

Todays mood

-R. Crumb

Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text, trans. Richard Miller

I'll Stay In Today by Chukwu Adaeze Stephanie

All the Colors of the Dark (Sergio Martino, 1972)

Hieu Minh Nguyen, from “Heavy”

Nowhere (dir. Gregg Araki)

Rihanna photographed by Ellen von Unwerth for Esquire UK, 2014

Bung Jun Seok | #WheNightComes

“twisting at my birthday party, new york city” (1980) by nan goldin

“Some men carry you to bed with your boots on. Some men say your name like a verbal tic. Some men slap on an emotional surcharge for every erotic encounter. Some men are slightly mentally ill, and thinking of joining a gym. Some men have moved on and can’t be seduced, even in the dream bars you meet them in. Some men who were younger are now the age you were then. Some men aren’t content with mere breakage, they’ve got to burn you to the ground. Some men you’ve reduced to ashes are finally dusting themselves off. Some men are made of fiberglass. Some men have deep holes drilled in by war, you can’t fill them. Some men are delicate and torn. Some men will steal your bracelet if you let them spend the night. Some men will want to fuck your poems, and instead they find you. Some men will say, “I’d like to see how you look when you come,” and then hail a cab. Some men are a list of ingredients with no recipe. Some men never see you. Some men will blindfold you during sex, then secretly put on heels. Some men will try on your black fishnet stockings in a hotel in Rome, or Saran Wrap you to a bedpost in New Orleans. Some of these men will be worth trying to keep. Some men will write smugly condescending reviews of you work, making you remember these lines by Frank O’hara: I cannot possibly think of you/other than you: the assassin/of my orchards. Some men, let’s face it, really are too small. Some men are too large, but it’s not usually a deal breaker. Some men don’t have one at all. Some men will slap you in a way you’ll like. Some men will want to crawl inside you to die. Some men never clean up the matter. Some men hand you their hearts like leaflets and some men’s hearts seem to circle forever: you catch sight of them on clear nights, bright dots among the stars, and wait for their orbits to decay, for them to fall to earth.”

— “The Matter,” Kim Addonizio (via dorothea-rising)

Kim Addonizio, “Flood”, Tell Me

Marbre de jeune fille, Musée de Rennes, France

Kelis, 2000