i love being both severely mentally unwell and hideously self aware it's like a free completely useless bonus feature that enhances the experience in all the worst and most mortifying ways possible
KIROKAZE

if i look back, i am lost
The Bright Sessions
🪼
Today's Document

shark vs the universe
hello vonnie

oozey mess

titsay
almost home

Love Begins

Origami Around
RMH
No title available

pixel skylines
★
Cosimo Galluzzi
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
EXPECTATIONS

Product Placement
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Brazil
seen from Ecuador
seen from Iraq
seen from Bangladesh

seen from Switzerland
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from China
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Congo - Brazzaville
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye

seen from Russia
seen from Indonesia
@ciosunbaenim
i love being both severely mentally unwell and hideously self aware it's like a free completely useless bonus feature that enhances the experience in all the worst and most mortifying ways possible
— Tina Chang, from “Color.”
Ada Limón, “Against Nostalgia”, The Hurting Kind
Sally Wen Mao, from The Kenyon Review (Mar/Apr 2020)
Alice Neel, Frank O'Hara, 1960, oil on canvas, 34 x 16 1/8 in.
Why I Am Not a Painter, by Frank O'Hara
I am not a painter, I am a poet. Why? I think I would rather be a painter, but I am not. Well, for instance, Mike Goldberg is starting a painting. I drop in. “Sit down and have a drink” he says. I drink; we drink. I look up. “You have SARDINES in it.” “Yes, it needed something there.” “Oh.” I go and the days go by and I drop in again. The painting is going on, and I go, and the days go by. I drop in. The painting is finished. “Where’s SARDINES?” All that’s left is just letters, “It was too much,” Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of a color: orange. I write a line about orange. Pretty soon it is a whole page of words, not lines. Then another page. There should be so much more, not of orange, of words, of how terrible orange is and life. Days go by. It is even in prose, I am a real poet. My poem is finished and I haven’t mentioned orange yet. It’s twelve poems, I call it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery I see Mike’s painting, called SARDINES.
SUNGHOON — ‘BLACK SWAN’ ending fairy (221224)
— Leigh Bardugo, from “Six of Crows.”
lovely cat sleeping in the Sanctuary of the Goddess Isis at Philae (now on the Agilkia island)
I love tumblr bc i can be so pathetic and annoying on here and it’s fine
Natalie Díaz, from "Manhattan Is a Lenape Word", Postcolonial Love Poem
Charif Shanahan, from "Fig Tree"
enhypen — red carpet @ kbs gayo daechukje
Wendy Cope / Ada Limón / Tomás Q. Morín / Queer Eye / Ada Limón
a very quick poem i just wrote, made from excerpts of texts my mum has sent me this year.
And how do you run away from what never goes away??
the miracle of being here
invitation, mary oliver// @arthoesunshine // when death comes, mary oliver//to be alive, gregory ott// the dead poets society(1989), quote: walden, henry david thoreau// joseph campbell// the aeneid, virgil// @babyangel-jpg // @rawjoy //sweet, charles bukowski// that it will never come again, emily dickinson// bjenny montero// ? // ? // moments, mary oliver// madness a bipolar life, marya hornbacher// wild geese, mary oliver// letters to a young poet, rainer maria rilke// on earth we're briefly gorgeous, ocean voung// @ashstfu // i thought on his desire for three days, linda gregg