deadivodúos

cerchiViii

14th-Century Illuminations for Dante’s Divine Comedy

#bahamaStrong

somos lo mismo, del mismo palo, del mismo mar... 

it could have been us, but it was them... perhaps we are glad it went that way, but now we must

be generous

please donate... 

#bahamaStrong

::de::inTerpretaciones::

images 1,3: Jen Bervin embroiders Emily Dickinson's handwritten punctuation and editorial notes image 2: found decodification 

truth

acércacti

reCovers::serVesYouRight

gOtitasdeDolOr

aVirus

Are you talking to me? Or are you just practicing For one of those performances of yours?

noMEpaseCalóLola

lanzarSe

LuZ

voces uruguayas...

trabajarLAtierraTrabajarLAcama

malintencionadamente me mandan esto, y bueno... a mucha honra... cada uno colabora con lo que puede... manual/oral labor, both... y el que siembra su maíz... que se coma su pinol(e)...

NadaLaLentaNocheNtusOjosCorteSanaEldíaQueMurióelSilencio

Camerata Romeu: Nada, La lenta noche en tus ojos, Cortesana, El día que murió el silencio: piezas de Gerardo DiGiusto, Roberto Valera, Ignacio Cervantes y Cergio Prudencio

americanFunk

Mr. Featherstone, American inventor of the plastic pink lawn flamingo. #Happy4th #KeepAmericaFunky

figuresOFspeech

Figures of Speech Virgil Abloh @ Museum of Contemporay Art, Chicago

herTaleOfWoes:::unBelDìVedremo

soliloQuios

sandStOrmS

"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.” 

-Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

waiting

WaitingFORgodot full