Sufficient Champagne

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Is this the honour which man hath by being a little world, that he hath these earthquakes in himself, sudden shakings; these lightnings, sudden flashes; these thunders, sudden noises; these eclipses, sudden offuscations and darkening of his senses; these blazing stars, sudden fiery exhalations; these rivers of blood, sudden red waters? Is he a world to himself only therefore, that he hath enough in himself, not only to destroy and execute himself, but to presage that execution upon himself; to assist the sickness, to antedate the sickness, to make the sickness the more irremediable by sad apprehensions, and, as if he would make a fire the more vehement by sprinkling water upon the coals, so to wrap a fever in cold melancholy, lest the fever alone should not destroy fast enough without this contribution, nor perfect the work (which is destruction) except we joined an artificial sickness of our own melancholy, to our natural, our unnatural fever. O perplexed decomposition, O riddling distemper, O miserable condition of man!

John Donne, Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions (his book about illness)

3 days ago

I admit it: I was only provisionally into South Pacific until the last few scenes, when YOMIGODSEXYCOPILOT heygurlhey.

I admit it: I was only provisionally into South Pacific until the last few scenes, when YOMIGODSEXYCOPILOT heygurlhey.

Now I take this thin-stemmed glass and sip. Wine has a drastic, an astringent taste. I cannot help wincing as I drink. Scent and flowers, radiance and heat, are distilled here to a fiery, to a yellow liquid. Just behind my shoulder-blades some dry thing, wide-eyed, gently closes, gradually lulls itself to sleep. This is rapture; this is relief. The bar at the back of my throat lowers itself. Words crowd and cluster and push forth one on top of another. It does not matter which. They jostle and mount on each other’s shoulders. The single and the solitary mate, tumble and become many. It does not matter what I say. Crowding, like a fluttering bird, one sentence crosses the empty space between us. It settles on his lips. I fill my glass again. I drink. The veil drops between us. I am admitted to the warmth and privacy of another soul.

Jinny, Virginia Woolf’s The Waves

3 days ago

Human-rights violations.

Human-rights violations.

Well, Amazon, you’re not wrong…

Well, Amazon, you’re not wrong…

MEME THIS OR EARN MY ETERNAL IRE.

Merman! Mememan? Mermeme?

IT’S A MERMEME.

MEME THIS OR EARN MY ETERNAL IRE.

Merman! Mememan? Mermeme?

IT’S A MERMEME.

♪ Scattered pictures… of the smiles we left behind… ♪

♪ Scattered pictures… of the smiles we left behind… ♪

(Source: indefensible)

We must create a new culture that is not so confined and centered so tragically on our obsession with our penises and what we do with them…. We learn what it’s like to be what we are from what we read…! Surely gay culture is more than cocks…. Who are we? What does it mean to be gay? What is the gay sensibility?

Larry Kramer, “Sex and Senisbility”

4 days ago

frakintosh:

Harvey Milk by Daniel Nicoletta
San Francisco, 1977

Happy birthday, Harvey Milk! You were killed the day I was born!

Harvey Milk by Daniel Nicoletta San Francisco, 1977

Happy birthday, Harvey Milk! You were killed the day I was born!

(via merlin)