Introduction
...I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
Houses and rooms are full of perfumesthe shelves are crowded with perfumes;
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
[...]
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-doeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depressd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels,
And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmers girl boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking shortcake.
[...]
My lovers suffocate me!
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public hallscoming naked to me at night,
Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the riverswinging and chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and giving them to be mine.
(Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass)
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
Houses and rooms are full of perfumesthe shelves are crowded with perfumes;
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
[...]
I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars,
And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren,
And the tree-toad is a chef-doeuvre for the highest,
And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven,
And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,
And the cow crunching with depressd head surpasses any statue,
And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels,
And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmers girl boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking shortcake.
[...]
My lovers suffocate me!
Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,
Jostling me through streets and public hallscoming naked to me at night,
Crying by day Ahoy! from the rocks of the riverswinging and chirping over my head,
Calling my name from flower-beds, vines, tangled underbrush,
Lighting on every moment of my life,
Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses,
Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and giving them to be mine.
(Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass)
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SuicideGirls… became famous for embracing beauty in every shape and form — meaning bodies covered in tattoos, having bright-colored hair, and being outside of traditional beauty norms were celebrated. The name comes from the idea that women who commit “social suicide” by being different come together.
A nation wide art-sleaze phenomenon.
It’s like a punk rock Vogue…with artful nude photos of women.
Fifteen years ago, a small-but-passionate community that celebrated beauty in alternative, pinup-style photography was born. It was called SuicideGirls.
They’re the girls next door - but more colorful and with better record collections.
SuicideGirls respond… in the best way possible.
The meeting place for people interested in alternative lifestyles.
SuicideGirls is as much about community as it is about naked photos of tattooed women.
SuicideGirls is redefining concepts of beauty across the globe.
