Alex Bowle, Women of the IRA, Northern Ireland (1977)

Alex Bowle, Women of the IRA, Northern Ireland (1977)

Mourning badges were typically worn on the left arm for 30 days. Advertisements for them appeared the day after President Lincoln’s death. This delicate ribbon, affixed with a gold-rimmed photograph, could have been worn by a man or woman.

Mourning badges were typically worn on the left arm for 30 days. Advertisements for them appeared the day after President Lincoln’s death. This delicate ribbon, affixed with a gold-rimmed photograph, could have been worn by a man or woman.

RED

  • Ken: I didn't mean red paint only. I meant the emotion of red at sunrise.
  • Rothko: Sunrise isn't red.
  • Ken: Yes, it is.
  • Rothko: I'm telling you it's not.
  • Ken: Sunrise is red and red is sunrise.
“Something in me vibrates to a dusky, dreamy smell of dying moons and shadows.”
Zelda Fitzgerald

from my diary, 9 April 2013

Cannot seem to get the smell of honeysuckles out of my dress. I feel like I’m losing April, along with the missing millimetres of rain that should be on my ground. Dipping soldiers into cracked eggs and discussions of Foucault’s theory of marriage over five o’clock breakfasts and name one thing that doesn’t somehow bloom. Every time I see a butterfly, I wish I had a net and a glass jar of formaldehyde, beauty preserved for all the world to see. Crying over Frida Kahlo in the rose garden after art history lecture, with rocks strung from trees swaying in the breeze. (Secrets locked in boxes become monsters; build me a secret garden where I can live away from the world.)

Dancing at a London jazz club, 1950s.

Dancing at a London jazz club, 1950s.

Pink smoke protest at the Vatican for women priests.

from Dive for Dreams

in spite of everything
which breathes and moves, since Doom
(with white longest hands
neating each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.

e.e. cummings