Breath on breath. Gravity slipping behind

Janaina Medeiros
hello vonnie
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

blake kathryn
🪼
Today's Document
sheepfilms
we're not kids anymore.
Jules of Nature
Cosmic Funnies

ellievsbear

oozey mess
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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★
YOU ARE THE REASON

titsay
d e v o n

Andulka
will byers stan first human second

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@die3schueler
Breath on breath. Gravity slipping behind
THIS WILL ALWAYS BE MY FAVORITE VIDEO ON THIS WEBSITE
Poem by the 12thc warrior poet Xin Qiji 辛棄疾, who was sidelined during peacetime, demoted, drifting through a decade of minor posts in remote lands.
Poetry, then, as that which is left unsaid.
“My, what a cool and lovely autumn.”
this poem was translated by eileen chengyin chow, or @chowleen on twitter and tumblr! im not sure why the translators attribution was specifically cut out here:
A young friend told me he came across my translation on tumblr. He was a bit indignant that someone had removed my name from a poem.
Me: my Tumblr is still out there?? Anyhow, I took a look. It's been years. I do miss Tumblr from the olden days: poems, art, photos, fandom, cats, even the hentai.
i'm sure someone has posted this already, but just in case:
this burden will be lifted off my shoulders- i'll finally be able to escape the- the blood ocean and curl up in ryan goslings arms and just "oh, i'm safe, finally."
My illustrations the most based poem about tigers by Nael, age 6
Every time I read it I feel space inside my chest expand in very *emotion* way.
Valley of the Giants by Buren A
theres a lot more art work he did for this. Go check it out https://buren_a.artstation.com/
HELLO ! have you thought about Van Gogh’s First Steps today ?
Here you go. This world is beautiful. Humans are beautiful. I love you
your email means nothing to me
Far from what I once was // Not yet what I am going to be
Jenny Slate, Little Weirds
patron saints of one way trips
nothig has hit like this since leith ross' we'll never have sex
The Hand – Annabelle Dinda
Every time a guy writes a song, he's a cowboy, a sailor Playing with the world in his palm like the first pioneer. Every time he opens his mouth, it's a loud movie trailer Clipping every image and sound he thinks proves he was here. A hand, a spike, a physical fight, A flash of light, a curtain, A toll, a tithe, the passage of time, A height, a dive, a burden, A girl, a night, a typical type, A siren in the water, A scroll, a nod, a message from God, A son, a Holy Father. Every time a guy writes a song, he's a sailor, a cowboy Holding out the world in his palm like he made it himself. Every time I open my mouth, I think, "Wow, what a loud noise!" Still on the soapbox, just hoping I seem underwhelmed. The hand, the pen, the writing again, The Wind around the Willow, The felt, the ice, the passage of time, The melting down the window, The ‘now’, the ‘then’, the thinking of "when", The bottle in the ocean, The strike, the pause, the message from - God forbid she shows emotion. This isn't rage, it's worth a mention. This is a fake internal tension. Sometimes, I spread out one opinion And stand on its back to gauge attention. This isn't rage, it's too specific. I like to hate symbolic limits. This is no statement, I'm complicit. This is a dream, GOD put me in it. A hand, a spike, a physical fight, The Wind around the Willow, A toll, a tithe, the passage of time, The melting down the window, The now, the then, the thinking of "when", The siren in the water, The strike, the pause, a message from God. Does that make me His daughter? A hand, a shove, a valley, a jump, A score under the wire, Just sweep me up, just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher, Just sweep me up, just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher, Just sweep me up, just sweep me up And take me somewhere higher.
Holy shit this song hits like a fucking truck
I feel like I just had a religious experience
I'm dead 💀
“The daily routine of most adults is so heavy and artificial that we are closed off to much of the world. We have to do this in order to get our work done. I think one purpose of art is to get us out of those routines. When we hear music or poetry or stories, the world opens up again. We’re drawn in — or out — and the windows of our perception are cleansed, as William Blake said. The same thing can happen when we’re around young children or adults who have unlearned those habits of shutting the world out.”
— Ursula K. Le Guin
Don’t forget to imagine the best case scenario too babe