[1020934]

[somewordsarebiggerthanothers]

[vexheart]

Back to reading

[j-h-s]

[rozieramati]

[bled]

via vsco.co

[i-am-a-fish]

I'm like a plant in the way that I need water and sunlight and that if someone takes care of me I can get quite fruity

[picsthatmakeyougohmm]

[kroz-zivot-srcem]

[homunculus-argument]

Rules of DIY:

if it's a skill, there's rules you can learn

if it's an art, rules are not your concern

make it fucked up or you won't make it

if it's already broken, you can't break it

anything can be fixed with gorilla glue

except for pleather, and also you

[mihai-florescu]

The lion does not concern itself with the bank account balance when a little treat is calling

[mihai-florescu]

The lion will never financially recover from this

[insidestory1]

I find it very offensive that the more unwell you are, the more things you have to do to maintain your health. Things like following special diets, going to medical appointments, making big and important decisions about what treatments to use. At the same time, the more unwell you are the less energy you have to do all of these extra things. It seems grossly unfair.

[on-the-other-hand]

[feral-ballad]

...I don’t feel lonely anymore—I used to, but then I used to feel lots of things—no, its the silence I can’t stand, when the house around me throbs with silence, I become this hole filling up with dirt and rocks, as if debris were falling into me and sticking there, as if I were a house building itself on its own, and I grow stiller and stiller on the inside, petrified, and suddenly, like vertigo, the house falls slowly inward, collapsing into itself inside me, like the crazy woman’s house up on the mountain that fell in on itself as if it were crazy too.

Margarita Karapanou, tr. by Karen Emmerich, from The Sleepwalker

[feral-ballad]

Rachel Eliza Griffiths, from Seeing the Body: Poems; “Cathedral of the snake & saint”

[Text ID: “a grief / only a god could wrestle from / my soul.”]

[feral-ballad]

Rachel Eliza Griffiths, from Seeing the Body: Poems; “Name”

[Text ID: “Sometimes, it was love or art / that left me crawling in a tunnel. Sometimes I saw / choke-chains slither with my own hatred. The desire / to will myself blind so that I could not see / my face except in shadow.”]

[cryptidfrenzy]

Fighting ancient curses (I’m having a migraine)