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Sandra Oh in The House of Bernarda Alba (2002)

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There’s a deadness inside her. It’s like a… It’s like a well with no bottom, just sucking everything in. She wants to die. She wants everyone to die. I felt it. What she said when she broke, did you understand any of it? Some, yeah. It’s archaic Anacreon, not the common vernacular. Well, she slipped up. Because I understood something too. A name I remember from the holos. Larken Keaen. During the Anthor Belt dispute, Anacreon and Thespis brought gifts to the Emperor. My people’s was the Book of Ablut… And Anacreon’s was a bow carved for its greatest hunter. Larken Keaen. Meaning? Phara’s not just some junker. She’s the Grand Huntress of Anacreon.

Foundation Season 1, Episode 4: Barbarians at the Gates

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Den Beauvais

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Censor (2021) dir. Prano Bailey-Bond

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briscoepark

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Whitby Abbey, North Yorkshire

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Phantom der Nacht, 1979

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Pomp Charivari, southern Germany, 19-20. century

Tapered, heavy silver chain with side closures carabiner and twos. hooked coins. mostly encased in silver parts. Among  then, raccoon, stag beetle, eagle claw, Rehgehörne, various animals and tools made ​​of silver, etc., width 55 cm.

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ISSEY MIYAKE SPRING 1998 RTW

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Kate Bush in the Experiment IV music video (1986)

Photographed by John Carder Bush

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“Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world. There is the sun dissolving the dark, and light as clear as music, filling the room where you sleep and the other rooms behind your eyes. The sun has kept his promise and risen again.”

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Jeanette Winterson, excerpt from Gut Symmetries

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Eva Hesse

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Nyagua Ruea for Numéro Berlin

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Choi Ki Won (최기원) 1. 탄생/Birth 92_117, 1992 2. 탄생/Birth 92_110, 1992

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Peanuts

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Dream House as Heat Death of the Universe

As long as I can remember, I have been obsessed with physical and temporal limits. The beginning, the end. The first, the last. The edge. Once, when I was a kid, I stood in that wonderful sand right at the lip of the tide—the kind that could be wet and pliable or go hard like damp cornstarch—and yelled to my parents that I was standing on the line of the map. When they didn’t understand, I explained that there was a line on the map between land and water, and I was on it, precisely. Many years later I went snorkeling with my brother off the southern coast of Cuba. After dipping around the coral reefs near the shore, my brother asked our guide—a tanned, shirtless, free-diving hippie named Rollo—to take us both farther out. So we went into the open water, where if you relax your body the whole of the ocean will rock you back and forth, make you a little seasick. Rollo took us to the place where the shelf dropped off. One minute I could see the sand, and the next there was a deep, blue-black nothing. The three of us surfaced, and Rollo told me to watch him. Then he dove down and down until the darkness swallowed him up.  Even though I was safe—my back was exposed to the air and I was inches from oxygen—I gasped and lifted my face out of the water. My brother said, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” and I tried to explain but could not. A few seconds later, Rollo surfaced, grinning. “Did you see?” he asked. A theory about the end of everything: the heat death of the universe. Entropy will take over and matter will scatter and nothing will be anymore. 

— Carmen Maria Machado, In The Dream House