for real tho, fuck this yearning bullshit i am so tired of it
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
hello vonnie

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art blog(derogatory)
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
occasionally subtle
RMH
wallacepolsom

roma★
Not today Justin
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

JBB: An Artblog!

izzy's playlists!

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Peter Solarz
sheepfilms
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@contrarienne
for real tho, fuck this yearning bullshit i am so tired of it
will you love me
for the feathers i grew
for their color and hue
for the song in my head
for the music instead
of the words that I speak
of the truths that I seek
oft'n hard to hear
though harder to bear
standing tall and alone
feeling cut to the bone
but strong in the fight
and flooded with light
enough to take flight
and fly out of sight
what it means to be free
is to love me for me
if i love you for you
will you love me too?
a gauzy tartan pant number against a tapestry i mean come on
chainmail FISHNETS
chainmail TIE
chainmail EVERYTHING
Falconiere can do no wrong
i'm a little (a lotta) obsessed with this joan of arc chainmail aesthetic that has been haunting my ig feed lately
so naturally i have to immortalize it here
Falconiere chainmail brass suspenders
Monte Fitz Roy, Patagonia by Yury Ufimtsev
i was not meant for calm water
the peaceful pond or languorous lake
rather to descend to earth a flake
of snow upon the crested mountain.
To creep my way down glacial floe,
To melt, to drip, to trickle to a fountain
Falling fast and free, clear and pure,
Merging with rivulets over all terrain,
Cascading over cliff in pounding blur,
A thund'rous roar into canyon main,
From thence to river, with murk and mud,
From river to bay, to sea, to storm.
Participating in the constant wave,
the push and pull of the moon on the earth
by way of water.
And after a time at the surface in all weather,
A dive to the deep.
So deep the light falls short.
So dense. Too dense.
And yet, even here,
The current moves to the surface
Ever slowly, but surely
This place not the destination,
but a stop on the way.
A removal of debris, of waste, of scars,
A purification, rebirth, preparation
for return to surface
to light
to warmth
to cloud
from whence I came.
give me the haunted places
eyes through time peer from every corner
watching memories stalk past like ghosts
admiring their handiwork in the marks they've left
on places like these.
give me the ruins
of the great and noble structures of man
nature has the last word, the last brushstroke
in the way she reclaims her clay
lent to sculptors hellbent on permanence.
give me the moments
the quiet interludes between words,
articulated in glances met, in touch, in knowing observation
that their beauty lies purely in that
we are able to bear witness to it
only now
before fading back into the ether
for another soul to tease out
in another time
in another place
...and back again.
These cycles of creating
and destructing
are the very breath of culture
weaving in and out of sight
of mind,
of life,
like paths crossed and congruent
then parting,
dipping, weaving, circling back
in the dance we call our stories.
Tracks and trails and paths and threads
picked up here and followed there
or missed, or set back down,
but never followed to completion.
They weave through planes and time
unfollowed by most, unseen by all
but the few who see not with eyes
but with sense beyond description
which cannot be taught
only felt
deep within.
Venga por ahí
by sir20 for menorca-sir20
teal cove
instagram - twitter - website
@themoonstoned
— roach-works