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Professors who thrive on embarrassing their students can seriously go suck a fuck

adapto:

Body comparative #47 (1,2)


I think of pastel icing, pink candles burning in the pale November afternoon light, and there is a sense of shame and failure. I close my eyes, wait for pictures. I need to fill in the black square of time, go back to see what’s in it. It’s as if I vanish at that moment and reappear later, but different, not knowing why I have been changed. I close my eyes, wait for pictures. I can tell it’s the wrong memory. But the flowers, the smell, the movement of the leaves persist, rich, mesmerizing, desolating, infused with grief.

Margaret Atwood, from Cat’s Eye (via violentwavesofemotion)

cinemove:

Chungking Express (1994) dir. Wong Kar Wai