Game Changer & Make Some Noise
oozey mess
No title available
Cosimo Galluzzi
No title available
noise dept.
shark vs the universe
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Mike Driver
sheepfilms
Keni
The Bowery Presents
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
blake kathryn
KIROKAZE
Phantogram Three
Claire Keane
Love Begins
Fieri Frames
seen from Vietnam
seen from Colombia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from Sweden
seen from Mexico
seen from Malaysia
seen from Egypt
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Egypt
seen from Germany
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Argentina
@ari-penandink
California Palm Tree
Far from home
I stand tall
Swaying in yellow sun
Blue skies in opposition
Clouds from yesterday
Now behind me
My leaves sway
May tropical winds
Break me in half
I’m a staple
To the Golden State
Of promises
There is something incredibly unique to our generation. A bid of connection that is ancient, an anthropological wonder in the next 100 years. The act of opening a meme, mid conversation, holding it until the narrator is finished. Saying— in what I recall, my memory deserving of you, I offer a moment. The moment on stage to be told you are thought of fondly, enduring time, until I see you again.
I miss you, type shi.
Midnight
I was laying in bed when my ribcage cracked open. My flesh, bones and connective tissue pop and crackle, nestled my tiny heart pounding. Pounding hard, desperate and cold. I am completely raw past midnight, the world is silent for once.
I thought about what life was like back then. Before men, before self-deception. While I laid, organs shifting, the blood trickled down onto my sheets. I could feel my body calling out. I’m completely defenseless past midnight, the world is kind for once.
Up until very recently I’d never been able to feel good about myself. I found it quite vain, actually, to have confidence. I mean, really, who am I *but* to be humble. My small intestines began to knot, when I realized I was doing it again. I haven’t been able to keep my dinner down. My pink snakes slip, crossing over each other. I am not myself past midnight, the world doesn’t give a shit.
We were lined up in threes. I was always the tallest, you were well dressed and the Virgo always knew best. I remember the way we would join our heads together, and our craniums cracked clean down the middle. Our hair knotted together, with the thin, white, gentle strings that connected us. Mine are now gray and tender. My puppet strings dangle from the gray matter that trickles out of my nose. I tend to overthink a little past midnight, the world has an idea.
The wriggling crackles of my body lay on an unkept bed. How grotesque of me, to open up like this. If anyone were to walk into my room right now, they’d squeal in absolute horror. They don’t have the medical authority to help me. They don’t even have the moral obligation to deal with such a state.
So in the dead of night, way way past midnight, I burst wide open. Red, festering, wet and still a fluid in my skeleton. The world made me a promise. The world that confuses you so, the world that slicked us apart.
Past midnight every night, I show up as I am. All that I meant and will ever express. But no one will come for me, it’s all for me.
Humid
Every inconvenience and great shame of mine is picked up by the 933.That one time I pissed a bus driver off by sitting in the disabled seating, all for being short a quarter. I keep putting the wrong shoes in the wrong boxes at work. My head feels big, heavy. The bus passes through my groggy neighborhood, clanking and bopping my body against my seat.
I can’t help but feel suffocated in these moments. Where my rumination comes and sits on my chest like a velcro child. I sweat at the things I could have said, the things I could have done. What can I do differently next time?
Many of my mistakes now seem minuscule, everyone makes them. I cannot excuse myself after the fifth or seventh time, though. How careless of me! I can ponder and write as much as I’d like. The fog will still creep up to me, and I don’t live in a cemetery. I’m on the bus…
Closing Shift
you asked me
what it’s like to be
the vigilant lover I am
the key still sits in the back room
since I’ve discovered I can
closing has come a lot easier
even from myself I’ve ran
as I count the money in the till
your gaze ponders my answer still
5s and 10s, 13 pennies
my love insurmountable
more than money’s plenty
In the first human trial, an mRNA cancer vaccine at the University of Florida triggered immune systems to fiercely attack glioblastoma.
The discovery represents a potential new way to recruit the immune system to fight treatment-resistant cancers using an iteration of mRNA technology and lipid nanoparticles, similar to COVID-19 vaccines, but with two key differences: use of a patient’s own tumor cells to create a personalized vaccine, and a newly engineered complex delivery mechanism within the vaccine.
Within 48 hours, the four human study participants showed remarkable results: their immune systems went into turbo cancer-destroying mode. And without surgery, radiation, or dangerous chemotherapy.
Folks, we may have a cure for cancer within your lifetime.
May it perform as (so far) advertised.
Holy shit. This would be incredible.
Better Luck Next Time
The worst four word wish anyone has ever invented. Whenever the crossroads cross, I can hear the guided wind blowing in my ear this curse. It means it wasn’t meant to be— my hand wasn’t a winner, I’ll figure it out next time.
I’m a sore loser at birth. The 42 gestational weeks I sat in my mothers womb, counted and waited upon. Never on time. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever make things on time. I can start something early and then I take a short break, the hike of life sometimes feels like the path changes, mocking me behind my backpack.
And when I look back, the trees I had marked now hide from me. I resemble what some would call a deer, but the deer is made for the forest— in the forest. Where am I?
The woods will always change and turn with rain and snow. Some people have hiked the same path for centuries, generations even. Someone like me though doesn’t worry about the path, I just wonder if I got the right shoes for the trail.
But here I am at the crossroads. Wondering how much worse it could possibly get. I’m worried about missing the marks again. I refuse to turn back! There’s no next time when the trees grow over, and the path is muddy and chocolate.
Which path has the most moss?
Neil my dude, after showing my mother season one of Good Omens and my dad seeing a bit of it I mentioned you also wrote Coraline and either my mom or dad (don't remember which one said it) said you must have been a weird kid.
Could you please confirm or deny whether or not you were a Weird Kid™?
I was a weird kid.
Reblog if you were a weird kid.
“omg you’re so creative. how do you get your ideas” i hallucinate a single scene in the taco bell drive thru and then spend 13 months trying to write it
