Hurricane — Alphonse Legros


hurricaneHurricane by Alphonse Legros (1837-1911)

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I find art on the internet and it calms me down.

stefan draschan
elsa bleda

valin mateis
stefan zaistsits
scott listfield
joshua flint
alan linnstaedt
azuma makoto
jenny holzer
phillipe morillon
ian francis

rob gonsalves
jaap de vries
Ilene Meyer
wayne barlowe
michael hutter
vangel naumovski

19th century
emil antoine bayard
gustave doré
artus scheiner

summers gonna end and here’s some iPhone notes in a post !!

“the content of cat calls is so circumstantial. like if I’m on my bike it’s all “wish you’d ride me too sexay,” but if I’m in a blazer and heels it’s all “damn girl you take care of business.” these men are ~commenting~ with cat calls and it makes me think they just are in desperate need of a creative outlet.
buy some markers bro and stop harassing me”

“cheers to the queers, applause to the whores, and a huck huck huck for a jolly good fuck”

“there is a law that just has passed through congress today named for a women who was killed by an undocumented person. a straight tragedy. the murderer deserves to feel the consequence of his actions and the arms of justice should strike the dude hard. but this law punishes a group of people … can you imagine a law that punishes all white men because white men statistically kill more women than any other group of people. would you call that fair. would you call it just. just trying to appeal to those who are not convinced by moral arguments. this is a logic based argument. punishing a group of people based on a shared characteristic that has nothing to do with the crime that was committed is called Discrimination. Even if you can’t stop being an asshole At least try to stop being an idiot.”

“what is or isn’t life”

“i’m riding to rockaway  — thinking of you — and why I didn’t stay”

“Rode my bike home with a 102 degree fever today, needless to say, I was delirious.
I felt the weight of the unexpectedness of life and everything, the traffic, the burning in my legs, my lightheadedness, the snot dripping down my face, my sunglasses slipping down the bridge of my nose, seemed to compound the feeling.”

“I was in yoga, had my feet in the air, blood rushing to my head, pretty focussed, and my sweat was dripping into my eyes. So I shut my eyes, and I instinctually gaze, with my eyes closed, to the middle point of my forehead just above my eyebrows. This is supposedly where your third eye lives. I automatically look to my “third eye” because when I was younger I had a crazy hippy dance teacher who had us, from the age of twelve, meditate and learn how to teach yoga and crazy breathing exercises and stretches and the whole nine yards. So especially when I’m already in that sort of setting, my “””enlightened””” side comes out.
So I look to my tHiRD eYE, and I see a white light, and then next thing I know the light is in my chest. And then your face appears in my mind’s eye. I didn’t have thoughts about you, I just saw the light and saw your face. You were just there. I wasn’t thinking about you, you were just there and I felt this feeling in my chest and it trickled down and up all through my body. It was a feeling of a mixture of love and gratitude. But it didn’t really exactly feel like either of those things. It was more, but less, all at the same time.
But bike riding home, I did start thinking: I am so lucky to have met you, and to have experienced you for all you are, and to have gotten to see your country, and to have experienced us. To have experienced a love that crosses culture. To have gotten to travel with you. You have taught me so much about the world, I can’t imagine someone ever teaching me as much as you. You are easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met and it’s very possible that you’ll always be the most interesting person I’ll ever get close to. Your impact, your place in my life . . . I am so grateful for everything. I can’t find the words.
I feel a chapter, or maybe even a book, closing. But I’m not sad. It’s time, and it feels right. All I feel is joy that I got to have you.
And you’re not just special because of the specialness of who you are: you’re special, because somehow, across all the bridges, we worked. All the boys in past few years I know were with me, at the end of the day, for that sense of comfort, rather than to be with me. And this is clearly something I’m causing (not them) because obviously I’m the common denominator here. But that wasn’t you; you were always so interested. You loudly appreciated my personality. You saw me at my very, very worse and you stayed. And you never judged. And you listened. And you chose me everyday. And I saw versions of you I didn’t like, and I, outside of my usual norm, never wanted to run.”

“There is nothing wrong with being “woke”. Knowledge is power and the first step in combating the evils of society is to understand what is going on. Where lies a problem is when your “wokeness” simply results in a stroking of your own ego and does not serve as inspiration to mobilize and take action. Any action, even if it’s tiny! If you are “woke” and do not use this knowledge to help the issues you now are so aware about, you have simply replaced your ignorance with an over-inflated ego and a false sense of superiority. The man who reads a pie recipe may be closer to having a pie than the one who hasn’t. But if all you do is the read the recipe, at the end of the day, you are both just two pie-less men in a world that desperately needs some pie.”


the thing is

if it was about filling a role

or serving a function

there are people who would serve that function

for me

a lot better than you


but that didn’t matter because

the whole point was

that it didn’t feel like I was

filling a role

it felt like I got to

be myself



and now that I know

that feeling wasn’t real

I’m not sure what’s left

and whatever is left

I’m not sure is enough