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One damn thing after another

@miss-m-calling / miss-m-calling.tumblr.com

TV/movies, books, art, dance, beautiful things & people, cats. I'm Miss_M on AO3.
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dailyrothko

Mark Rothko, Untitled, 1969

Oil on paper laid down on canvas

Collection of Christopher Rothko. © Kate Rothko Prizel and Christopher Rothko

Attended the absolutely stunning Paintings on Paper exhibit at the National Gallery in DC today and it did not disappoint. Being so involved with Rothko does not, I think, make me uncritical to how the works have aged or how they are presented. These really blew me away in terms of their impact. Many of them have never been seen in public. They really held up well, just gorgeous. See the show in person if you can, you get so much detail from the paintings pictures just won't capture.

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What worries, or rather annoys, me is the lack of basic curiosity among large-language speakers towards small languages, their very common inability to consider small languages as realms and not mere deserts in which strange sounds travel from one dune to another. . . . [T]his annoys me insofar as any type of ignorance of the privileged annoys me: I dislike seeing people choose to remain small.
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mactiir

obsessed with mass market paperbacks. their pleasing rectangular proportions. how they fit badly in a hoodie pocket so you can drag them around everywhere with you like a temporary little buddy. the way they fit in your hand because they're MADE for human hands and not as bookshelf decoration. the way the pages feel when you riffle them gently with your thumb. How pristine and crisp they look when you get them and how creased and folded they look when you're done, even if you try to be nice to them. how that wear is okay, how that's correct actually, because they're made with the philosophy that books aren't meant to be PRETTY, they're meant to be read. that little ripple new ones get on the left side from where you hold them when you're reading, the way the ripple only goes as far as you've read, because u change stories by reading as they are changing you. how you can find thousands of these creased and folded and loved little dudes in every thrift store and used book shop and neighborhood library and you can instantly see the ones that someone carried around in a backpack for weeks or read to pieces or gave up on halfway through because they wear being read like fresh snow wears footprints. I love these poorly made, subpar little rectangles so much. truly the people's books.

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