I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

@theartofmadeline
occasionally subtle

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Misplaced Lens Cap

Andulka
🪼
Sweet Seals For You, Always
DEAR READER
taylor price

izzy's playlists!
Today's Document
Claire Keane
Jules of Nature

oozey mess
RMH
tumblr dot com
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Game of Thrones Daily

seen from Spain
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@angelofthepanopticon
me (an adult): yeah I’m thinking about running away
do you guys remember this song
Big Bill Broonzy
June 26, 1903 – August 14, 1958
Apocalyptic Lamb
‘Dyson Perrins Apocalypse’, London ca. 1255-1260
LA, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Ms. Ludwig III 1, fol. 5r
Thankful for our time together. Thankful that it's over.
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!
RIP Alain Delon 🖤
Photography by John S. Barrington, London, 1957
goodnight soul
is it paradoxical or exactly right to be both worthless and a burden
Paul Almásy Shell Gas Station, Algeria 1962
Charles Breese. Day After Storm, ca 1860.
— 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
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.
"White Night", Anna Akhmatova (translated by D. M. Thomas)
[ 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. ]