tenderly, tastefully.

21 years young and carelessly composed of 256 colors. here's a bunch of other people's photos I find interesting.

[feral-violet]

[comfortablysharedsilence]

there are things i would love to say but nothing really worth spitting out. thoughts are all enigmas. my minds eye is not as sharp as my tongue can be quite often when the cold creeps in to my brain. i see things how i want them to be not as they are, sometimes. i do not seek to validate however validation is a very easy blanket to keep over you if given in excess and drunken enough. drunk off validation. silly, sickly, timely in fashion.

[comfortablysharedsilence]

opened and discarded i am in love with the garbage

[duxuebing]

Photography by Xuebing Du

[70sscifiart]

Cover illustration by Josh Kirby for “What’s Become of Screwloose? And Other Inquiries,” 1971

[fulana1]

[70sscifiart]

Dean Ellis

[scarymansion]

[comfortablysharedsilence]

[just-shower-thoughts]

The mule was the original hybrid vehicle

[20aliens-deactivated20200625]

George Wylesol

[umrzec]

https://instagram.com/p/BcZviIsFlzQ/

[comfortablysharedsilence]

I was 15 in this picture and i’m honestly mad that i was so much cuter back then???

[comfortablysharedsilence]

i raised my ears to these walls so often as a child these walls have raised me too. i’ve seen what happens when you stare so hard at them you actually believe they can hear you. one, two, so what special tune have you let slip through the door jam today? how melodic your secrets are to reminisce... what were you looking for head first in the glass frame? (i glued it back) and what did you find inside the closet wall that made you dig so deep to get it out of you? (i had to sleep with you that night with my fingers locked in your belt loops) who’s eye peaks through the keyhole while you dissect your artery, artfully, with words that spoke “my body brought you here but now it’s mother only to your eyes when they are red with disease too” but in a language that just spelled “help me”? shame on me for thinking we could share. (i taped that place on your arm too) but who was standing behind me watching you then? who’s eyes did you meet in the hallway behind where i stood when you first saw through me? for whom did you drool for at the sharp end of that knife? there was murder in your eyes, they were glassy, like a dolls. you reminded me of a sick dog when you were like that, temporary cataracts, eyes void of light but somehow without emptiness. a full nothing took over you. a ghost in its own spirit’s presence. With iron in mouth and sword in hand, “God,” you told me then. God you tell me still with a lazy eye and a leak in your exterior. So who’s blood is this on my hands then, His, or hers?

june 21, 2017.

[coffinschool-deactivated2018061]

[cobaltdays-deactivated20210208]

[luciofulci-deactivated20200614]

Don’t Look Now (1973)

dir. Nicolas Roeg (x)