land of no horizon

scarlett candle in the sun / 27

[lamignonette]

[bpdvibess]

me (an adult): yeah I’m thinking about running away

[angelofthepanopticon]

do you guys remember this song

[musickickztoo]

Big Bill Broonzy 

June 26, 1903 – August 14, 1958

[discardingimages]

Apocalyptic Lamb

‘Dyson Perrins Apocalypse’, London ca. 1255-1260

LA, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms. Ludwig III 1, fol. 5r

[escuerzoresucitado]

[wetheurban]

Thankful for our time together. Thankful that it's over.

[vedurnan]

6th grade math problem:

Words were exchanged between friends – the house of human companionship was established in secret – eons passed – eons passed – eons passed – eons passed

A) The house was diminished!

B) The house was strengthened!

C) The house was swept away!

D) The house was swept away!

[c86]

RIP Alain Delon 🖤

Photography by John S. Barrington, London, 1957

[angelofthepanopticon]

goodnight soul

[angelofthepanopticon]

is it paradoxical or exactly right to be both worthless and a burden

[kvetchlandia]

Paul Almásy Shell Gas Station, Algeria 1962

[angelofthepanopticon]

[iamthecrime]

Visit Original Link

[fragrantblossoms]

Charles Breese. Day After Storm, ca 1860.

[reallyreallyreallytrying]

— have you tried the peat over here — yes. i have tried all of this peat — i do not think you have tried this peat. if you had tried it you would have remarked upon it — i have tried it — you would have said, "this peat is as salty as day's honest work, and as sweet as the first sip of vodka past my lips at sundown" — is that something i say? — yes. you say it all the time — i don't think i say it all the time — yes, you do. and you would have said it when you tried that peat — let me try it again, then — oh, now he's interested — mm. wow. ok — you're not going to say it? — say what — you know what — it's nice peat. no strong associations

[houseofpurplestars]

Refusal in the genocide by Omar Sakr

He walked to the gate

Accelerant in hand.

I can’t make this beautiful

I hope you understand.

His voice was clear.

He tried to light

The spark of his life

Several times.

I’m stuck on his fingers

On the catch

On the flash

On the free

On Falastin

Screaming

I don’t need a poem

I need a fire extinguisher

But oh god

Nothing can quench this light.

[metamorphesque]

"White Night", Anna Akhmatova (translated by D. M. Thomas)

[typewriter-worries]

[ Text ID:

I haven’t locked the door,

Nor lit the candles,

You don’t know don’t care,

That tired I haven’t the strength

To decide to go to bed.

Seeing the fields fade in

The sunset murk of pine-needles,

And to know all is lost,

That life is a cursed hell:

I’ve got drunk

On your voice in the doorway.

I was sure you’d come back. ]