ojovivo
hello vonnie
Today's Document

roma★
noise dept.
official daine visual archive
Cosmic Funnies
sheepfilms
Monterey Bay Aquarium
YOU ARE THE REASON
No title available
Phantogram Three
The Bowery Presents
Sweet Seals For You, Always
The Bright Sessions
h
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
d e v o n
tumblr dot com
occasionally subtle
seen from Azerbaijan
seen from Ecuador
seen from Venezuela

seen from Türkiye
seen from Colombia
seen from Brazil
seen from France

seen from Malaysia
seen from Belgium
seen from Canada
seen from Brazil

seen from Germany
seen from France
seen from Brazil

seen from Venezuela
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from India

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
@amenaceamess
— CZESŁAW MIŁOSZ, translated from the Polish by the author.
“Gender is a shell game. What is a man? Whatever a woman isn’t. What is a woman? Whatever a man is not. Tap on it and it’s hollow. Look under the shells: it’s not there”
— Naomi Alderman, The Power (via sonnywortzik)
Tove Jansson, The Summer Book
our longing for inconvenience by hanif abdurraqib (id in alt)
get to know you better tag game
Stealing @russthappen’s two games in one thank for the taggss @axo4027 and the aforementioned @russthappen
Name: It’s a secret but you can call me C
Age: I was born in the 90s
Relationship status: I have no desire to be anything but single
Sexuality: on the aroace spectrum for sure
Crush Initial: Do I put L for Lake or M for Michigan
Followers: Is this something I should know??
Fav Friends/Mutuals: if I’ve reblogged you even once (even from the side blog), consider yourself a fave
Birthday: February
Fav Song: changes constantly. top three right now are “GRWM” by Lorde, “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, and of course, always and forever, “What I Know Is All Quicksand” by Giant Rooks. (the live from the Hurricane Festival version if possible)
Currently watching: nothing! working 14 hour days and I simply haven’t got the time. Did watch The Princess Bride with the campers last week though
Currently reading: see above. but also I’m still working on Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.
Current obsession: ummm Rittersport?
Currently working on: I got a comment on my abandoned Norrussell sequel. So I’ve been thinking about that. I also have a Gax Breakfast at Tiffany’s AU floating around somewhere.
Currently wearing: purple sports bra and black shorts
Last Google search: craft store near [redacted]
Favourite Flower: Buttercups and lilacs and those pretty bushes with the tiny yellow flowers
I’m sorry, I am too tired to tag anyone and I have been chronically offline lately but! If you want to do the game, please please please just do it! consider yourself tagged :) <3
The Ruin, Anonymous Old English Poem, trans R.M. Liuzza
fully convinced that there is nothing Rumours by Fleetwood Mac can’t fix.
pushing thirty by the way
We're all aging up at the exact same rate. It matters not. A rock will outlive us both.
Mammal in a Sunday Dress, by Georgina M. Cox, 2026
Mammal in a Sunday Dress explores the uneasy relationship between femininity, civilisation, and the animal body. At first glance, the figure appears modest and withdrawn. Her posture is composed, her gaze seemingly lowered towards her bare feet, recalling the conventions of nineteenth-century portraiture where women were often depicted as passive objects of observation. Yet as the viewer moves closer, the illusion collapses. Her eyes are not lowered at all. She is looking directly back. The delayed eye contact transforms the encounter. The viewer approaches believing they are safely observing a woman; instead, they realise they have been observed themselves. The work refuses the traditional power dynamic of portraiture, denying the comfort of anonymous spectatorship. Looking becomes a reciprocal act. For Cox, the painting considers humanity's persistent desire to separate itself from the rest of the animal kingdom. The title quietly undermines this distinction. A "mammal" is not another creature—it is us. The Sunday dress, rich with cultural associations of femininity, morality, and respectability, becomes an attempt to distinguish ourselves from nature. Yet clothing cannot alter biology. Beneath lace and ritual remains the same vulnerable animal body. The work also reflects on the historical relationship between women and nature. Across art, religion, and philosophy, women have repeatedly been positioned as closer to instinct, emotion, reproduction, and the body itself, while men have been aligned with reason, culture, and civilisation. Mammal in a Sunday Dress does not reject this comparison. Instead, it questions why proximity to nature has so often been treated as something lesser. Chiaroscuro isolates the figure within darkness, allowing the luminous dress to symbolise the performance of civilisation while the bare feet quietly return the body to the earth. Neither is presented as more truthful than the other. The painting exists in the tension between performance and instinct, refinement and biology. Mammal in a Sunday Dress ultimately asks a simple but unsettling question: if every layer of culture were stripped away, what would remain? Not a king. Not a saint. Not a gentleman or a lady. Only another mammal, looking back.
source
I've been writing a fanfic for a while but I started rereading moby dick recently and upon rereading my fic u can tell exactly when I did
yeah ok bro
who would win, 47 German children or 3 very tired English teachers
At this point I've seen like three unconnected pieces of American media set in a superficially idyllic small town with a big fuckoff lake that functions as a liminal boundary between the Known and the Unknown and in which a major character attempts suicide by drowning, and now I'm wondering if the Liminal Death Lake is just a thing American small towns have.
Or y’know the dwindling relics of an ancient inland sea that once reached from Labrador to Texas that are so deep and so cold and so still that they’re notorious amongst locals for “keeping their dead” which is to say they’re the fated and inevitable final resting place for anyone who works them or works on them and you never get the bodies back all of which were central to the theology and folklore of the locals for thousands of years before The Cross arrived and which border 2 countries and several states and have their own weird weather patterns and really I could go on at length about the apparent magic contained in those Midwestern bodies of water but I think you get my gist
I think I've literally said this on a trogblog before but, as a native of the area, the great lakes are gods.
Lake Superior is notorious for shredding even OCEAN going ships. Those she takes into the Ice Water Tomb do not return unless she permits. If she feels so inclined, she annihilates the shore with storms reaching into hurricane status. Gichigami does not tolerate the unworthy, and barely tolerates the worthy. Those who slip under her surface will rest there, in the silent cold. She is ancient.
It's the fate of all Northerners to be blanketed by the cold in death.
It is so ridiculously easy to gain a reputation for being competent by just reading signs.
This is not metaphorical. I mean actual, literal pieces of paper/plastic/metal/whatever explicitly erected to inform the public.
“How did you know this was the right trail?” I read the sign.
“Wow, how did you know what that flower is?” There’s a SIGN.
“How did you know we needed to use the side door?” THERE IS A SIGN POSTED ON THE FRONT DOOR.
Just…why are we having such different experiences of the world? People can read. I KNOW they can read. There’s nothing wrong with their vision.
Just. READ. THE. GOD. DAMN. SIGN.
This also applies to:
Syllabi
Instructions
my best tip for anyone trying to get back into reading is to remember that you can read books to avoid other responsibilities in ur life and it can become a vice if you play your cards right
“You write the beginning and then you go back and rewrite the beginning, and you never got off page one. It’s kind of a syndrome, and I have a rash piece of advice which is — Go on, page two, page three, and never look back. Get something finished, no matter how lousy it is. […] Perfectionists cannot get going unless they kind of do violence to their own instincts, and just blast ahead.”
— Ursula K. Le Guin, The Last Interview and Other Conversations