Childhood Trauma Culture Is Constantly Seeking Validation Because No Matter How Many Times It Is Confirmed

HUNTER SCHAFER for Givenchy at Paris Fashion Week 2019

Hozier, ‘Cherry Wine’

[Text ID: “I’m all but washed In the tide of her breathing.”]

“You learn that the only way to get rock-star power as a girl is to be a groupie and bare your breasts and get chosen for the night. We learn that the only way to get anywhere is through men. And it’s a lie.”

— Kathleen Hanna, of Bikini Kill, Le Tigre, and The Julie Ruin

you kiss the lake and catch sight of the moon in its reflection. feel yourself drowning in everything you were once proud of. lost boy, don’t you know? those who communicate with angels are already lost. it is not beautiful or brave. the way the water pulls you in and traps you in it’s embrace is tragic. where is the angel you were praying to now?

💓💓

• “If Moses had seen the way my friend’s face blushes when he’s drunk, and his beautiful curls and wonderful hands, he would not have written in his Torah: do not lie with a man” (rabbi yehuda al-harizi/judah ben solomon harizi, book of taḥkemoni iirc)

• “The number of hours we have together is actually not so large. Please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. Please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it.” ( Mikko Harvey, from “For M,” Foundry)

• I want to stay on the back porch / while the world tilts / toward sleep, until what I love /misses me, and calls me in. (Dorianne Laux, from “On the Back Porch,” Only As the Day Is Long: New and Selected Poems )

• “I am sitting at my kitchen table waiting for my lover to arrive with lettuce and tomatoes and rum and sherry wine and a big floury loaf of bread in the fading sunlight. Coffee is percolating gently, and my mood is mellow. I have been very happy lately, just wallowing in it selfishly, knowing it will not last very long, which is all the more reason to enjoy it now.” (Tennessee Williams, from a letter to Donald Windham)

•I cannot write about Damascus, without the jasmine climbing on my fingers. I cannot say Her name, without my mouth getting overcrowded with apricot juice, blackberries and quince” (Nizar Qabbani, A Green Lantern on Damascus’ Door)

• “Put your heart in it” “My heart’s with you. I don’t have it anymore” (Dear Ex, 2018)

• "Why did you call me at the office today?” “I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.” (In The Mood For Love, 2000)

• I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week (Arctic Monkeys)

• This tweet

• Sharing a bubble bath on a rainy day, Santa Cruz, February 2015.

• Chungking Express (1994)

the kitchen smells like toast and fresh coffee. I’m at the sink, washing two mugs for us, singing softly to etta james. you come up behind me and envelope me in a tight hug, lean your mouth into my neck and say good morning angel. I make some joke about how you’re up early for a sunday and we both laugh. I turn to hug you, my hands soapy and dripping wet from washing the dishes. we kiss and laugh at the hand prints on your t-shirt. you don’t care. love is the small glow of the stove light. and the break of sunshine through the window. love belongs here, with us, on a sunday morning.

“you’re like an angel, nothing touches you.”

— Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

tag yourself: autumnal/halloween edition 🥀♡

ghost maiden~ ♡ a castle shrouded in mist, playing chopin’s nocturnes by candlelight, early morning walks across frosty meadows, a white victorian nightdress with a wilting lily of the valley bouquet, bewailing the day you were abandoned at the altar, the ‘giselle’ ballet, tear-stained love letters thrown from the tower or into the icy lake...

19th century vampire~ ♡ attending the opera in a moth-eaten velvet gown and lace gloves, a cursive-inscribed first edition of ‘carmilla’ from your first lover, hosting elaborate feasts for the local nobility but only drinking red wine, a dusty french boudoir of old treasures: vintage glass bottles of perfume and antique art, reminiscing with byron and wilde...

forest-born witch~ ♡ mushroom picking at night, a cat-shaped familiar composed of shadow (named circe), singing in latin to our lady the moon or hekate, velvet spell bags of herbs and tumbled smoky crystals, casting off one’s earthly form to step through the incense veil into the world of spirits, a cauldron of stewed apples and blackberries for teatime (guests include the grimm and medea)...

academic-turned-detective~ ♡ ancient ink-blotted manuscripts of homer’s odyssey, solving a century-old murder mystery, pearl buttoned blouses and shabby oxfords, wandering a cemetery with hot cider or cinnamon cocoa, haunting gloomy chapels on rainy afternoons, melting wax to seal a hand inked letter to an old friend...

angel of sweet death~ ♡ a lovely-hearted heartbreaker, worn out ballerina slippers and a black silk slip (with a cashmere cardigan for the evening), ‘girl’s night’: black and white horror films and devil’s food cake, tying a velvet ribbon to a tree branch as to not get lost in the enchanted forest, follower of lana del rey and stevie nicks, weeping tiny black pearls and coughing up dried rose petals...