ladysnowblood12

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'God's Idea' by Da Loria Norman, 1931.

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The Surrealist Ball of 1972, hosted by Baroness Marie-Hélène de Rothschild and her husband Guy at the Chateau de Ferrières.

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Perfect Magazine, 2022.

Ph. Zhong Lin

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Dementia 13 | Francis Ford Coppola | 1963

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Soasig Chamaillard

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My dream bath. My dog’s nightmare.

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check in on your nemesis! make sure theyre doing poorly in these trying times

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Franz Werner von Tamm (1658–1724) 

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Cloudlandia lol

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… S̷̻̝̉͠O̵̯͚̒ ̴̺̓̄B̷͈̳̎E̷̪̦͋̒̿ ̵̳̺̎͌I̵͕̻̼̿͝T̷͓͛̆.̶̝̻̅

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He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

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My brother cracked my rib one morning and gave me half of his orange in the evening.

I remember being younger and sometimes wishing to be a single child, to have all the attention and gifts and time but when he was away from home for the first time, I remember crying and stroking his side of the sofa as if blurting out my first wish- for him to be home, without thinking twice, without a shadow of doubt. Even the genie cried. Growing up with a sibling is like being the only people on a stranded boat, constantly figuring out how you can live with them and questioning how you could ever live without them.

One evening, in a fit of anger, I told him how I never wanted him to be my brother and he yelled that he didn't ask for it either. The air smelled like kerosene and my chest was filled with arsenic. I was raging and threw his favorite toy aeroplane down the window, 7 stories of guilt and shame. He cried all night and I wanted to cut off my right hand, the hand that hurt my baby brother. I didn't know if he was ever going to forgive me or even talk to me. The next morning at breakfast, he didn't look at me or say a word, I felt like my chest was about to explode and guilt clouded my vision. But then, I felt a hand quietly holding half of an orange my way.

The only people on a stranded boat. How do you live with them? How could you ever live without them?

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

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Adieu Ammenotep, 1960, Leonora Carrington

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Spetses, Greece

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Death of Ellenai, Jacek Malczewski

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Illustration for Dostoevsky’s “The Possessed”, 1913, Mstislav Dobuzhinsky