Each time we don’t say what we wanna say, we’re dying.
I can be someone’s and still be my own.
john beech, cluster coated drawing #2
(by kids on holiday)
He calls my name as shelter, not realizing I am the storm.
Léa Seydoux by Nan Goldin
"VIV" , Viv Albertine ; The Slits - photo by Herbie Yamaguchi
This is the Uniform Collection 002 lookbook
To Touch: "What would it be like if a poem was a landscape? Something you could touch? Something you could mould? Something that would show evidence of your fingerprints, visibly?"