josephine baker photographed by david redfern, 1974
wallacepolsom

oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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AnasAbdin
will byers stan first human second

pixel skylines

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Acquired Stardust
noise dept.

izzy's playlists!
Monterey Bay Aquarium
sheepfilms

JVL
we're not kids anymore.
$LAYYYTER
hello vonnie
cherry valley forever

ellievsbear

JBB: An Artblog!
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@beasaintgermain
josephine baker photographed by david redfern, 1974
The thing about being trans is that once you come to terms with it it’s really just whatever but The Cis People insist upon being weird about it
Once you’ve been out of the closet for a while and are surrounded by people who are at the very least neutral and respectful about the trans thing it just becomes a whatever part of your life and all these people claiming that you’re ruining society and passing laws against you kinda feels like a swat team storming into your house while you’re just eating spaghetti.
Bro why are you banning me from using the bathroom I’m literally just eating spaghetti
summer
1. make a syllabus for yourself - books, media, places, recipes
2. complete 40% of it
3. eat every fruit u can
M*A*S*H | 2.17 - "For Want of A Boot"
i've been phasing the phrase 'google it' out of my vocabulary and going back to 'look it up'. fuck you youve lost your generic trademark privileges
I feel like a lot of people get "All Art is Political" confused with "All Art is made with Political Intentions" which is not the same.
A Clutch of Vampires by Edward Gorey
Me when I'm old as fuck and my grandkids talk to me: this reminds me of a post. I gotta go find the post
Grandkids: grandpa sit down you don't need to show us a post
Me: (not listening) Now where was that post....
Heavenly Delusion, ch. 60
Gary Oldman, promotion picture for the movie "Bram Stoker's Dracula" by Herb Ritts (1991)
happy birthday, gilbert baker. (june 2, 1951 — march 31, 2017)
The world could be so beautiful
you are 16. you are talking with a gay man in his 50s or 60s, a friend, huge and gentle with a scarf and short fluffy curls of gray hair, who has directed you in two plays staged in your mid-size artsy town. (he has not yet asked you to be in his production of The Laramie Project which will change your life. this conversation will also change your life.)
he is talking about theatre. he is talking about theatre when he was younger. he says, "of course, it was AIDS then." in the pause, you ask him. clumsy and quiet and 16 and "straight," you ask him. what was it like.
he takes a moment in which his face is not like a person's face. "there was a time," he says, "i'm not sure how long, years. when i went to a funeral every weekend." he tells you about two funerals in a day, and choosing between friends when you couldn't make it to both. he does not look at you, he looks at them. his wet grey gaze is so clear that you start to see ghosts. it will be years before you understand why it feels like your grief too. why the ghosts call you family.
happy pride, family. i love every single one of you
when i wrote this post, i didn't expect very many people to read it. i figured it wasn't the kind of thing people liked to read and reblog, but it was late at night, and i was remembering this person, and i was crying, and i had to write it out. so i did.
to this day no other post gets sent to me so often by friends who have encountered it as a repost on some other site. the idea that more than one hundred thousand people have read these words, and know this story now, and maybe feel as i did, is tremendously humbling and unbearably beautiful to me. even by accident, even just passing on a story that is not my own, i often think that it is the best thing i have ever done.
happy pride, family.
I love you all. May Reagan burn.
Sorry to use y'all like this, but I REALLY need your help.
they got married btw
oh you’re not kidding
I'm obsessed with the Elizabethan ruff