Farida Khelfa At Azzedine Alaïa S/s 1992

Good morning! The Kerch bridge is fucked!

today I found out that russian soldiers are now living in half of my parents' house, the house I grew up in. It feels like my childhood is being raped.

my mother inherited half of this house from her grandparents, another half was inherited by our relatives. I lived there 'till I was 17, and though I didn't have a happy upbringing, it was still...no, it is still my home. Now those relatives have left and sold their half to the russian occupiers, the only people who buy property there nowadays. Most of the times they just take empty houses for themselves or kick the owners out, but some actually pay something for it.

my parents have been living in Donetsk city for the past year, but now they're temporarily visiting my hometown in Donetsk region, and things are worse there than in the city. It's not only our house, the entire town is basically a russian military base. No jobs left that aren't related to the military in some way, no buildings that don't have soldiers in them. Every hospital, school or business - russians are everywhere. It's even in the little details - stalls in the market, where they always sold clothes, purses and cosmetics, now sell only camo and other military stuff. College across the street from my house, now hosts the russian military, both the academic building and the dormitory. They choose buildings surrounded by residential houses.

I don't know why I feel like this. Never planned to go back there, not even after the war, yet it still feels so devastating. All those places I know like the back of my hand, all those memories...

"twenty fourth february class work"

"the village is liberated armed forces of ukraine 04.09.22"

"the margiela woman of 89-94 was great because she was your social studies teacher and possibly a nightclubbing vampire"

JW Anderson pigeon clutch bag

Yoshitomo Nara: 'I Don’t Mind If You Forget About Me' (2001)

THIS

The Construction of the Kakhovka Hydroelectric Station by Oleksandr Vovk, 1955

Being a pacifist is a priviliege.