‘Small Knife with Sheath’ The Ottoman Empire, 18th century. Material: steel, silver, bone, horn, mother-of-pearl, enamel [source]
tumblr dot com
Sweet Seals For You, Always
wallacepolsom

Product Placement

Kaledo Art

Origami Around
dirt enthusiast
KIROKAZE

titsay
ojovivo
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
i don't do bad sauce passes
Xuebing Du
Jules of Nature
cherry valley forever

Love Begins

Janaina Medeiros
Misplaced Lens Cap

seen from United Kingdom
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@alyriance
‘Small Knife with Sheath’ The Ottoman Empire, 18th century. Material: steel, silver, bone, horn, mother-of-pearl, enamel [source]
I haven't been writing much, and it's not that I have nothing to say; It's that I have too much. It's hard to be a writer, to be a thinker, to be a progressive. It's difficult to consume as much as we do, to be consistently overwhelmed in an overworked society. One in which inhibits our ability to feel, to love and to be joyous. It often feels unfair, to be a lower class, to not be handed the opportunities we so often seek. To see others living happily, mercilessly to their God because He has served them. I could do good in this world-- I believe it. I know it. Trusting oneself is the first step to righteousness, or so we are told. To have the confidence to be, is all I wish for in this life.
bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.
Go Lovely Rose! Tell her that Wastes her Time and Mine by Herbert James Draper (English, 1864–1920)
The God Who Loves You
by Carl Dennis
It must be troubling for the god who loves you To ponder how much happier you’d be today Had you been able to glimpse your many futures. It must be painful for him to watch you on Friday evenings Driving home from the office, content with your week — Three fine houses sold to deserving families — Knowing as he does exactly what would have happened Had you gone to your second choice for college, Knowing the roommate you’d have been allotted Whose ardent opinions on painting and music Would have kindled in you a lifelong passion. A life thirty points above the life you’re living On any scale of satisfaction. And every point A thorn in the side of the god who loves you. You don’t want that, a large-souled man like you Who tries to withhold from your wife the day’s disappointments So she can save her empathy for the children. And would you want this god to compare your wife With the woman you were destined to meet on the other campus? It hurts you to think of him ranking the conversation You’d have enjoyed over there higher in insight Than the conversation you’re used to. And think how this loving god would feel Knowing that the man next in line for your wife Would have pleased her more than you ever will Even on your best days, when you really try. Can you sleep at night believing a god like that Is pacing his cloudy bedroom, harassed by alternatives You’re spared by ignorance? The difference between what is And what could have been will remain alive for him Even after you cease existing, after you catch a chill Running out in the snow for the morning paper, Losing eleven years that the god who loves you Will feel compelled to imagine scene by scene Unless you come to the rescue by imagining him No wiser than you are, no god at all, only a friend No closer than the actual friend you made at college, The one you haven’t written in months. Sit down tonight And write him about the life you can talk about With a claim to authority, the life you’ve witnessed, Which for all you know is the life you’ve chosen.
If this pops up while you’re scrolling, I wish you unconditional love and massive success.
What if we were two beetles in love?🍀
spiders have got to figure out contracting I need to be able to call my local spiders union and be like "hey can you send a guy out for a few days the fruit flies are back" and then pay it in spider currency. I'll learn the conversion rates. I'll be generous with my rounding. please.
Solar Eclipse, England, 1930. Photographer unknown.
thinking about how on the last date i went on like three weeks ago she was like “so do you not like go to the club or the bar” and i had to tell her i haven’t been to the bar in over 6 months (i have good reason) and then she was like “well what do you go do for fun” and i had to look her in the eyes and tell her that i go sit in the woods and smoke weed and she told me id have to go to the club w her if we started dating and that’s when i should’ve known it wasn’t gonna work out right there im not built for the club i hate the club im built to sit on the biggest rock i find i don’t know why i was shocked
Warsan Shire, from "For Women Who Are Difficult to Love"
some perverts coded photos a la king dude
When I recall a past of love, I imagine an infinite collective of warmth and pleasure. The spotlight on a lover's face in a crowded street. A single glance of understanding; Solidarity. As a lover, I have dreams of being understood, shared amongst society, and never hidden away. To be put on display is to be adored.
a.v.
also sometimes I will come across a short story or a poem we studied over a decade ago in english class and it'll make me smile. I loved our english teacher and I'm forever grateful to him for introducing us to those works, even if we were too dumb to appreciate them back then.
Teardrops burn my legs A hand not yours to hold words I spit have no past Not in your mind nor in my lap It never matters, my wishes When nobody ever seems to listen Every time I speak, my words void Take it from others Who say they know me best I'm just like my mother Helpless at best
"untitled"
a.v.