Painting Over Achromaticity

“Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman’s womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her.”
― Anaïs Nin

C O N C E P T I O N

“We lift ourselves by our thought. We climb upon our vision of ourselves. If you want to enlarge your life, you must first enlarge your thought of it and of yourself. Hold the ideal of yourself as you long to be, always everywhere.” – Orison Swett Marden

Familial Tools of Friendship: Part III – Anxiety

“When the mushrooms took hold she sensed some of the gods calling to her from inside her own chest and followed their urging outside into the yard and up the sunny slope into the trees. She felt all gooey, gooey with the slobbered love of various gods gathered within, and smiling full-time went about the woods looking to collect butterflies and pet them until they gave milk, or maybe roll in the dirt until she felt China through her skin.”
― Daniel Woodrell

C Y C L O P E A N

“Most people feared the darkness. Some people feared, more wisely, the things within the darkness.

Gabriel feared both, and with good reason. He walked anyway. That had always been his way. He had a complicated history with the woodlands of the world. He’d met his share of the Cyclops and the Circes that lurked within.

And the world never seemed to run out of monsters.”
― Angela Panayotopulos

Ours Not Mines

“Can you taste it Bruce? Can you taste the filth, the dirt, the oily blackness of that fossil fuel in our mouth as you choke and gag and spit it out? Do you still hear his voice in your head urging you to eat? Eat, eat eat. Your mother’s cries. Do you hear them? You should be Bruce. Because I know that it’s never left you alone. Now you can eat what you want to eat. For me, for you, for all the others. Now you can consume to your heart’s content or your soul’s destruction, whichever comes first. So eat.”
― Irvine Welsh

Uprooting 𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙮

“In hospitals, illness is allowed the freedom to wander antiseptic halls naked and wearing a countenance of pain without question. Although not stated verbally, it is understood that healing walks among crowds but happens only within the individual. We don’t ask those plainly naked and hurting to feign wellness, yet we look upon those clothed and who carry joyful expression, as if exempted from nakedness and pain. The eyes are not equipped to see the automatic wisdom of the body, and the body is not equipped to heal the ignorance that lives in the eyes.”

~ Jen e. Limon

S C A R S

“The mothers scar is the child’s wound that fades along her skin but does not heal the child’s heart until becoming scarred in manhood his pain bleeds into the womb of love where he returns to the origin of his healing”
~ V a l I d a r i o u