Vladimir Mayakovsky, from a letter featured in "Love in the Heart of Everything; The Correspondence between Vladimir Mayakovsky & Lili Brik, 1915-1930,"
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I audition for the role of Ophelia.
Ophelia might be 18. She might be 25. We don’t know. We know she’s young and pretty. I’m 27 and fairly pretty. I’m not young.
The director says he won’t cast someone who “looks” older than 25. I know this means he won’t cast someone who looks older than he thinks 25-year-olds look like.
The truth is, your face when you’re 27 is the same face as when you’re 25. The truth is, your face when you’re 25 is usually the same as when you’re 23. It changes sometime in the night when you’re 21.
Your face when you’re 20 is your face when you’re 18 is usually very close to your face when you’re 16. But when you audition for a 16-year-old when you’re 16, you lose the role to someone who’s 25.
You realize that all of those teenagers you watched in movies growing up were adults. They needed to be beautiful. They needed to be desired. Not awkward, growing, acne, baby fat cheeks.
That’s why you never looked like them. You wanted so badly to look like them.
Now 27 is too old for 25 and you spent your life waiting to look old enough to look young until you’re too old to look your age.
I lie. He can’t tell whether I’m 23-25-27 or whatever age at which a woman is disqualified.
I get the role. I meet the actor playing Hamlet. He’s 45. I meet the actress playing Hamlet’s mother, and she’s 30.
God forbid a woman looks like she was born before she gave birth.
Imagine if she looked like a mother.
Would Ophelia like to be a mother?
Would she have to look like one? With stretch marks and tired eyes from late nights nursing her baby?
Would she have to grow up?
Luckily for Ophelia, she drowns before she gets the chance.
Luckily for me, I still look young enough for the audience to care.
Ophelia and I leave behind a perfect corpse. And happily, because who leaves flowers at a grave with crows feet and smiles lines?
The play is a tragedy, so we don’t smile much, anyway. Luckily.
The people will cry because I’m worthy enough to die,
and happy Ophelia will never become too old to play herself.
—
Ophelia— a somewhat lazy poem I recently found buried in my notes app.
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People say “phase” like impermanence means insignificance. Show me a permanent state of the self.
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i love when tragedies are like “the love was there. it didnt change anything. it didnt save anyone. there were just too many forces against it. but it still matters that the love was there”
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— Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath
[text ID: Outside it is warm and blue and April.]
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Frida Kahlo, from a letter written in 1934, featured in "The Letters of Frida Kahlo,"
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While strolling through the woods
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1. Susan Sontag—As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, 1964-1980, 2. Phoebe Waller Bridge—Fleabag, 3. Richard Siken—Wishbone, 4. Anonymous, 5. Atonement dir. Joe Wright 6. Hot Priest Monologue—Phoebe Waller Bridge 7. Gillian Flynn—Dark Places 8. Meditation in an Emergency— Cameron Awkward-Rich , 9. Billie Eilish— idontwannabeyouanymore, 10. Stephen Adly Guirgis— The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, 11. Lioness Dewinter—Sìren Loa 12. Bernie Wrightson’s Illustration of Frankenstein’s Monster. 13. Bonnie Winterbottom—How To Get Away With Murder, 14. Sade Andria Zabala—Paper Napkin Stories, 15. Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz — Love Opened a Mortal Wound, 16. Unknown 17. Miley Cyrus — Never Be Me, 18 Kim Addonizio— Wild Nights; New Poems; Pareidolia, 19. Crazy/Beautiful dir. John Stockwell, 20. I.B. Vyache, Conversations Over Sanguinaccio Dolce.
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― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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William Mason Brown (1828-1898)
"Raspberries in a Wooded Landscape"
Oil on canvas
Located in the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Bentonville, Arkansas
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