Starchild @destructivedancer - Tumblr Blog

fantasysystem

#gifs #sparks

highways-are-liminal-spaces

Views of red rock country in Utah: Canyonlands, Arches and Zion

#photography #Utah

juniormissperfect

“Cross The Line” - Paulina Macias, Elite Danceworx, senior contemporary solo, Finals Competition, The Dance Awards Orlando, July 2017 ★ Choreography by ? ♪ The Three Sisters ~ Timber Timbre

#dance #video

mossrotts

Southern Utah Gothic

In the badlands, there is a hole. The hole is filled with bones. The bones are bigger than human bones, bigger than any bones you’ve ever seen. At first you think it might be dinosaur bones, but there are so many. There are so many bones in the hole.

You go walking at night. You are listening to music. You keep hearing someone calling your name. When you take an earbud out, there is nothing but the wind.

Standing at the edge of your apartment complex’s parking lot, you can count the steeples of at least a dozen churches. There’s a church inside your complex now–you’re not sure when it got there, or if that’s a normal place for a church to be. No matter what time or weather there are always people coming in and out. They are always smiling.

The hoodoos (geology, not religion) move. You’ve seen them move. It is not called Goblin Valley on a whim.

You continually see doppelgangers of people you knew, friends you loved. You know they cannot be here, not here, but you see them all the same.

You remember as a child that you attended a catholic mass once. You think you might like to again. You search for where the building was, but it was a very long time ago. You come across a church, it is white with a pointed steeple. It is not a catholic church. Those inside seem so friendly, you decide to ask. They are confused. They tell you there is only One Church, there has always only ever been one church. You attempt to describe the area the mass was held. Realization dawns on their faces and they give you directions. You follow them, and the area looks much more familiar. But on the hill of your childhood there is a church. It is white with a familiar pointed steeple. It is not a catholic church.

There are days where you are the only living being in your town. You do not know where everyone else goes on these days.

The dust devil takes a shape of a man.

Sometimes in the deserts, sometimes in the snowy mountains, you see small cemeteries. They have a dozen visible headstones at most. Sitting in your friend’s car, you stare at one such cemetery as it passes. Your friend tells you that it is a pioneer graveyard. You think to yourself that the tall figures with needle-thin legs that stood looming over the graves did not look like pioneers.

#southwestern Gothic

tastemypride

“Nonbinary people don’t exist.”

Oh really? Well shit, I guess I must be from the spirit realm then.

#musings

tatemcrae

Congratulations to Eva Igo for getting First Runner Up on World of Dance!

#photography #dance

highways-are-liminal-spaces

sunset over canyonlands national park, august 2017

A stubborn enough person can survive just about anything. Rage is a hell of an anesthetic.

Zaeed Massani (via nimhiufola)

#musings

habarudo

Burnt out

#art #animation #fire

calderacollective

*

#FC #luca hollestelle #photography

scribblingsquid

Utah Gothic

-The stores are closed on Sunday. Everything is closed on Sunday. Do not leave your home. Do not answer your phone. Do not answer the door.

-In the mountains, offerings are left at your cabin door. Bicycles and hiking boots in the summer. Snowboards and mittens in the winter.

-The lakes are deep and silent, even when there is a drought, the lakes have no end, no matter how far the shoreline may retreat.

-Always offer a portion of your meal to the seagulls. Give them the choicest morsels. Thank them for their protection.

-The desert sands are red. The desert is still and waiting. You can hear the laughter of tourists echoing off the canyon walls. You can hear the screams of tourists echoing off the canyon walls.

-There is a church on every corner, a funeral every weekend. If you go inside, there is a meal laid out for the mourners. Do not eat. Do not drink. Compliment the ladies on their meal, pretend to eat your Jell-O salad and funeral potatoes, then hide it under your cold slice of ham.

-Do not ask about fry sauce. Asking will expose you as an outsider. If your meal did not come with fry sauce, it is a test. Make your own fry sauce. Prick your finger and mix the blood with a little paper cup of mayo.

-There are no ghosts in the ghost towns. The ghosts linger in places still known by the living. In quilt shops and diners and schools.

-At night, you can hear the sad horns of trains. You do not live near the train tracks.

-The mines are treacherous. On the ground are foot prints of miners trying to find the exit. The air is heavy and warm and you can hear the miners working, always working, harvesting precious resources from the earth.

-The land is ancient and filled with the bones of creatures long dead but not forgotten. If you go out you can still find the fossils of trilobites and take them home with you. Set them on your windowsill and they will guard you through the night.

-The state has many national parks and monuments. They are protected. If you must take more than photographs, go to the gift shop and buy a little bag of fool’s gold. Keep it in your pocket, always.

Part Two

Part Three

#utah gothic