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everything comes full circle

@mtrle / mtrle.tumblr.com

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Sag' der Welt Dass ich sie heute nicht sehen will Und sag' der Welt Sie verlangt viel zu viel, zu viel Bitte halt' mich fest Damit ich mich an dich gewöhne Ich lass' die Augen zu Denn ich weiß hier ist es wunderschön so schön
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antigonick
For as long as I can remember, this has been one of my favorite feelings. To be alone in public, wandering at night, or lying close to the earth, anonymous, invisible, floating. […] To make your claim on public space even as you feel yourself disappearing into its largess, into its sublimity. To practice death by feeling completely empty, but somehow alive.

Maggie Nelson, The Red Parts (via antigonick)

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aenreth

Прийди, прийди, весняночко Та й не забарися А ми вийдем на юлицю Будем любитися Весняночко, паняночко Заглянь у віконце Заспівали співаночку Засвітило сонце

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Chess isn’t always competitive. Chess can also be… beautiful. It was the board I noticed first. It’s an entire world of just 64 squares. I feel safe in it. I can control it. I can dominate it. And it’s predictable, so if I get hurt, I only have myself to blame.          Anya Taylor-Joy as Beth Harmon in THE QUEENS GAMBIT (2020)

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“Every moment in this show exists so that these two women can end up alone in a room together.” (x)
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Central to the film is a reclamation of the Orpheus myth, a version of which the three young women read aloud together one night. Sophie registers distress at Orpheus’s fatal, selfish incompetence in looking back at Eurydice when he was told not to, and Marianne suggests he may have done it on purpose, preferring to lose the woman and savor, instead, the romance of his grief, making not “the lover’s choice, but the poet’s.” But it’s Héloïse who removes, for once, the fixation on Orpheus, his failings, and his loss. What if, she says to Marianne with an edge of defiance, it was Eurydice herself who chose art over staying together, who rather than leave the underworld with Orpheus, stopped and called out “Turn around,” preferring to remain down there and be preserved in poetry. A kind of freedom and a kind of permanence, rather than, as eighteenth-century marriage looks to be, an unwilling exchange of one for the other. —  In Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Love is a Work of Art

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