Scared Violent Like Horses, John McCarthy
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Love Begins
Misplaced Lens Cap

JBB: An Artblog!
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
d e v o n

tannertan36
Cosimo Galluzzi

titsay

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Monterey Bay Aquarium

ellievsbear

roma★
occasionally subtle
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
🪼
tumblr dot com
we're not kids anymore.
Claire Keane
ojovivo

seen from China
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seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
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@bluet-s
Scared Violent Like Horses, John McCarthy
I love with my teeth
The Lovers by Jef Joseph Marie Thomas Lambeaux (1852-1908)
A couple flat friends that went up in the shop tonight too!
shop 🗡 patreon 🗡 ko-fi 🗡 threadless
Grandma’s teapots ♡
Claude de Burine, tr. Gloria Still, from Serving Blood: New Poems by French Women; “The Prophet”
It’s strange to think that long before I had a name or a heartbeat, I existed in some shadowed, elemental way. Women are born with all the eggs they'll ever have, and these begin forming while they're still in the womb. So when my mother was just a fetus, the egg that would become me was already inside her. That means my grandmother carried not just my mother, but the beginning of me as well. For a fleeting moment, the three of use shared one body, and went through life together, layered like nesting dolls.
I know someone who kisses the way a flower opens, but more rapidly. Flowers are sweet. They have short, beatific lives. They offer much pleasure. There is nothing in the world that can be said against them. Sad, isn't it, that all they can kiss is the air. Yes, yes! We are the lucky ones.
Mary Oliver, Felicity: Poems
- Danez Smith, Litany with Blood All Over.
more and more lately im getting the feeling theres something deeply wrong with me and everybody in the whole world can tell no matter what im doing and also they want me dead forever over it
Algernon Charles Swinburne, from The Garden of Proserpine
TEXT ID: Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands;
it was you.
earlier today i told an acquaintance in passing that i'll often be in the middle of a novel and think "man i wish this shit were more ambiguous" and had to reiterate twice that i wasn't being sarcastic before they believed me, so this post is to say: i love when writers don't bother to explain everything, i love when stories end uncertain and unsettling, i love being required to think as a reader, i love when stuff makes no damn sense, no i'm not kidding