URSULA

TOMI ADEYEMI

So looking forward to this trilogy!

#thefutureisfemale

NANCY LUBLIN | CRISIS TEXT LINE

In 2011, a young woman named Stephanie Shih was working in New York City at DoSomething.org, a nonprofit that helps young people start volunteer campaigns. Shih was responsible for sending out text messages to teen-agers across the country, alerting them to various altruistic opportunities and encouraging them to become involved in their local communities: running food drives, organizing support groups, getting their cafeterias to recycle more. Silly, prankish responses were not uncommon, but neither were messages of enthusiasm and thanks. Then, in August, after six months on the job, Shih received a message that left her close to tears for the rest of the day. “He won’t stop raping me,” it said. “He told me not to tell anyone.” A few hours later, another message came: “R u there?” Shih wrote back, asking who was doing this. The next day, a response came in: “It’s my dad.”

Watch Nancy’s TED Talk.

#thefutureisfemale

CRISTINA GARCIA

One of my favourites has a new book out and I’m adding it to the towering pile! The NYT’s review of Here in Berlin

ALMOST LIKE PRAYING

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

ODE TO MY SISTER

I know why they say the heart is in

the heart. When you think about people you love,

you get warm there. I want to thank

my sister for loving me, which taught me

to love. I’m not sure what she loved in me,

besides my love for her — maybe

that I was a copy of her, half-size —

then three-quarters, then size. In the snapshots, you see her

keeping an eye on me, I was a little wild

and I said silly things, and she would laugh her serious

laugh. My sister knew things,

sometimes she knew everything,

as if she’d been born knowing. And I

so did not know — my wonder went

along with me wherever we’d go,

as if I had it on a tool belt —

I understood almost nothing, and I

loved pertinding, and I loved to go into the

garden and dance with the flowers, which danced

with me without hardly moving their green

legs, I was like a music box

dropped on my head. And I was bad —

but I don’t think my sister thought I was actually

bad, I was her somewhat smaller

littermate — nor did she need

my badness to establish her goodness. And she

was beautiful, with a moral beauty, she would

glide by, in the hall, like a queen

on a barge on the Nile, she had straight black hair

that moved like a black waterfall, as

one thing, like a black silk skirt.

She was the human. I aspired to her.

And she stood     between     the god     and me.

And her hair (pertind) was like a wing

of night, and in my dreams she could hold it

over me, and hide me. Of course,

by day, if the god wanted you for something,

she took you. I think if the god had known how to

take my curly hair from my head,

she would have. And I think there was nothing my sister

wanted to take from me. Why would

she want to, she had everything —

in our room she had control of the door,

closed, or open, and the light switch,

dark, or bright. And if anything

had happened to me, I think my sister

would not have known who she was, I was almost

essential to her, as she to me.

If anything had happened to her,

I think I would not be alive today,

and no one would remember me,

as if I had not lived.

⊕  Sharon Olds  ⊕

HANYA YANAGIHARA

Hanya Yanagihara | O, how I dig her talent + brains + work ethic . . . .

#thefutureisfemale

♥  CHARLOTTE GAINSBOURG  ♥

♥  ♥

♥ ELEVEN ♥

THE UNICORN

The saintly hermit, midway through his prayers
stopped suddenly, and raised his eyes to witness
the unbelievable: for there before him stood
the legendary creature, startling white, that
had approached, soundlessly, pleading with his eyes.

The legs, so delicately shaped, balanced a
body wrought of finest ivory. And as
he moved, his coat shone like reflected moonlight.
High on his forehead rose the magic horn, the sign
of his uniqueness: a tower held upright
by his alert, yet gentle, timid gait.

The mouth of softest tints of rose and grey, when
opened slightly, revealed his gleaming teeth,
whiter than snow. The nostrils quivered faintly:
he sought to quench his thirst, to rest and find repose.
His eyes looked far beyond the saint’s enclosure,
reflecting vistas and events long vanished,
and closed the circle of this ancient mystic legend.

Rainer Maria Rilke

♥ THE OBAMAS ♥ IN THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY

Kehinde Wiley + Amy Sherald  paint  ♥ Barack ♥ + ♥ Michelle ♥

Holland Cotter in the NYT

 

LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA

Junot Díaz | Immigration, Empire + White Supremacy

Francis Mallmann | The Most Interesting Chef in the World?

We Need Protests. And Paintings.

Shania Twain

Cindy Sherman | Untitled, 1988 + 2012