Things | Artifact

A Queer History of Relics

“As my feelings for R. grow, I find excuses to touch him, to mark him as my own.”

I think sometimes
our consolations are the costliest thing


The woman lies behind glass, head lolling on two royal purple pillows, blood oozing artfully from a single gash on her neck. She seems to be swooning: Her skin is sallow and waxy as an old candle stub and, through her half-closed lids, you can glimpse the whites of her eyes. Artificial roses—petals stiff, leaves dusty—bloom around her head. And in the space below the glass, a small golden plaque reads “CORPUS S. VICTORAUM.” The body of Saint Victoria.

clickThe Ecstasy of Saint Teresa

photo by B. Pietras



real presence


The Blessed Mother Mary


Touch me

The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa

fuck you

Treatise on Relics

Twelfth NightOxford English Dictionary

Not that pretty


Christian Science Monitor