sheepfilms
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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Not today Justin

Kaledo Art
Mike Driver
we're not kids anymore.

Discoholic šŖ©
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
occasionally subtle

ā
NASA
cherry valley forever
Today's Document

⣠Chile in a Photography ā£
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Xuebing Du

JVL
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Claire Keane

seen from Malaysia

seen from Spain
seen from Spain

seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Portugal

seen from Netherlands
seen from T1
seen from Iraq
seen from Iraq
seen from Chile

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@berlinbimbo
āShe could have been a cowboyā. Photography by Anja Niemi
Wang Guan-Jhen (Taiwanese, b. 1991)
Follow The Map, 2017
Acrylic on Canvas
Ropes <333
Being, for the religious person, is a gift, not a fact. It is through understanding this that we overcome our metaphysical loneliness.
Sir Roger Scruton, The Face of God
Music is the occult metaphysical exercise of a soul not knowing that it philosophises.
- Arthur Schopenhauer
āEvil is whatever distracts.ā
ā Franz Kafka, The Blue Octavo Notebooks
our bluebird (draft)
You found bluebird and I on a cold night in December. By that point I had already known Bluebird had been dying for some time, and her chirps grew more and more faint with each passing week. You could see that as well, and couldnāt help but to ask to take her into your care. Youād make her better in no time, you promised. But I had seen that trick before, and many of the bluebirds I had come to know had fallen victim to the quackery of lesser men. Even still, in an act of desperation and against my better judgement I handed her over into your wide hands.
In the weeks that followed you coaxed bluebird out of hiding and nursed her into health. You stroked her feathers and admired her colors. You made a nest for her out of your chest hair, heated by the warmth of your pumping heart. After years of flying away, falling, and fumbling, bluebird had finally found a nest.
In those months bluebird had grown to love you, and perhaps you even loved bluebird back, even if just for a brief moment. I urged her to show you her gratitude. Show him what you can do! And so she sang for you.
One day you held bluebird, stroking her feathers and said āBluebird you have found your home now. There is no more need to fly away, your search is over. No nest could ever fit you better.ā You then placed bluebird into a cage and locked it shut. Perhaps bluebird noticed the cage was to small to even stretch out her wings, but there was no more need to fly anyways. Perfectly content, she serviced your ears with her singing.
In the months following you housed blue bird in that small cage. "Sing, Bluebird!" you'd command when guests were over. "Don't I have a wonderful bluebird? She sings every day, just for me.ā You were proud to own bluebird, and bluebird was proud to be owned by you.
But Bluebird eventually grew weary of the constant performance, and the strain made her voice grow more hoarse by the day. You grew frustrated. āMy old birds would sing all day for me, for years on end, why donāt you?ā
One day, frustrated, you grabbed bluebird and squeezed her body. Shrieks narrowly escaped her beak in between pumps of your squeezing. āSee, itās not so hard to singā you laughed.
I watched as bluebird struggled. Should we go? I asked her, worried. No, no, he likes this and I like to serve. SoĀ sing she tried, but it was no longer with the same gusto as before.
More than a year had gone by before she realized the months of confinement had atrophied her muscles, something her prior state of satisfaction in the cage led her to fail to notice. One evening you came home, opened the cage and asked her to fly. She couldnāt. What happened to you? You asked. Always eager to please, and afraid to be abandoned, Bluebird promised to sing better, to perform better. She would be the same bluebird of before. Her mask would never slip. You and I watched her pleading in the most pathetic way. I think even bluebird was aware of her sorry status.
After a few futile weeks of trying you came home and grabbed bluebirdās cage with bluebird in it and set it outside. Bluebird, our time together has come to an end. It is time for you to move on. I hope you may remember our time fondly, and realize that there are good healers in this world, we are not all quacks. To my surprise, she accepted your decision without an argument. Dejected, I took her into my hands and we headed off.Ā
Months passed before bluebird finally stopped begging for death, and at one point she even begun to sing once more. Then after sometime you called bluebird back to you, only to repeat the process. At the end of your second confinement of bluebird you saw no more use in that pitiful bird, and planned accordingly. CookedĀ in some olive oil, paired with garlic potatoes and a nice white wine, you ate her as part of an exotic dinner with your new chirping bird.
Yang Fudong (Chinese, b. 1971)
Seven Intellectuals in Bamboo Forest, Part IV 竹陸äøč“¤ ä¹å, 2006
Yes
The Vampire Lovers (Roy Ward Baker, 1970)
Ali Akbar Sadeghi (Iranian,b.1937)
Balance ,1984
fuck her brains out so she can finally stop overthinking.