[feixiu]

dreams on sale, today only

[fullcravings]

Pink Champagne Cake

[simonmars]

i love spring because everything is green and cute and there’s pink petals flying through the wind and i’m here for it. it’s year 5 and maeve started a little potted plant garden to keep her entertained. most things in the farm are automated by now so it’s nice to have lil every day tasks like these

[simonmars]

🌸  springtime is always the prettiest in the valley

[itscolossal]

The First USPS Stamp Designed by an Alaska Native Artist Features a Trickster Raven as It Steals the Sun

[blurds]

this is the funniest thing I’ve seen in weeks

[cthulhuofficial]

Early thaw on Himawari 🌱🌳

[apoemaday]

We Lived Happily During the War

by Ilya Kaminsky

And when they bombed other people’s houses, we protested but not enough, we opposed them but not enough. I was in my bed, around my bed America was falling: invisible house by invisible house by invisible house– I took a chair outside and watched the sun. In the sixth month of a disastrous reign in the house of money in the street of money in the city of money in the country of money, our great country of money, we (forgive us) lived happily during the war.

[apoemaday]

What Kind of Times Are These

by Adrienne Rich

There’s a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted who disappeared into those shadows. I’ve walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don’t be fooled this isn’t a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here, our country moving closer to its own truth and dread, its own ways of making people disappear. I won’t tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods meeting the unmarked strip of light— ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise: I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear. And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell you anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these to have you listen at all, it’s necessary to talk about trees.

[psikonauti]

Gaël Davrinche (French, b. 1971)

Nocturne 23, 2019

Oil painting on canvas

[sosuperawesome]

Vincent Giarrano on Instagram

[cthulhuofficial]

It's hard knowing that if we wait for the perfect house, even an offer of 110% of the list price might not get it. It's hard seeing a great house and knowing that it's out of our price range, and that prices will be 10-20% higher in a year, and we don't save fast enough to keep up. Even if we could save that much, it's hard to get our minds around spending $700,000+ on a house.

It's hard to know where to compromise - location? size? HOA? If we compromise, it's really hard to swallow that we will still have to pay over half a million dollars for that. If we compromise, it's hard to deal with the possibility that if we'd waited, maybe we would've found the perfect house! But then that brings us back around to how the perfect house will still probably be snatched out from under us by something offering $25k over our 110% offer, and all of that in cash no less.

[brucefromfamilyguy]

[prsephonies-deactivated20200815]

when i was a teenager it felt very revolutionary to be cruel to myself. like some kind of slow passive protest against how much everything hurt. i starved myself of sleep and food and tenderness because it felt right. it felt sharp and angry and radical and i wanted to be those things. adulthood is the realisation that the world is already working to cut into you well before you learn how to do it yourself. caring for yourself and others is the real protest

[friedegg]

[friedegg]

[whats-your-name-man]

[cowboyhats]

Michelle K, I Know I Deserve More

[wvterways]

read this again.

[apoemaday]

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

by Wallace Stevens

I. Among twenty snowy mountains,   The only moving thing   Was the eye of the blackbird.   II. I was of three minds,   Like a tree   In which there are three blackbirds.   III. The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.   It was a small part of the pantomime.   IV. A man and a woman   Are one.   A man and a woman and a blackbird   Are one.   V. I do not know which to prefer,   The beauty of inflections   Or the beauty of innuendoes,   The blackbird whistling   Or just after.   VI. Icicles filled the long window   With barbaric glass.   The shadow of the blackbird   Crossed it, to and fro.   The mood   Traced in the shadow   An indecipherable cause.   VII. O thin men of Haddam,   Why do you imagine golden birds?   Do you not see how the blackbird   Walks around the feet   Of the women about you?   VIII. I know noble accents   And lucid, inescapable rhythms;   But I know, too,   That the blackbird is involved   In what I know.   IX. When the blackbird flew out of sight,   It marked the edge   Of one of many circles.   X. At the sight of blackbirds   Flying in a green light,   Even the bawds of euphony   Would cry out sharply.   XI. He rode over Connecticut   In a glass coach.   Once, a fear pierced him,   In that he mistook   The shadow of his equipage   For blackbirds.   XII. The river is moving.   The blackbird must be flying.   XIII. It was evening all afternoon.   It was snowing   And it was going to snow.   The blackbird sat   In the cedar-limbs.

[mosertone]

Coal miner's child using a hole in the door to enter a bedroom with a smoking pipe in one hand and a gun in the other in Bertha Hill, West Virginia. Photo by Marion Post Wolcott. 1938

[lettersfrombeachhead]