THE SHINING
1980, dir. Stanley Kubrick
dirt enthusiast

PR's Tumblrdome
Sweet Seals For You, Always
YOU ARE THE REASON
No title available
Monterey Bay Aquarium

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Cosmic Funnies
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
RMH

No title available
trying on a metaphor

blake kathryn

titsay
Keni
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

tannertan36
Misplaced Lens Cap

Kiana Khansmith

Discoholic 🪩

seen from T1

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Ukraine
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
@epistaxia
THE SHINING
1980, dir. Stanley Kubrick
Francisco Goya - Boy Staring at an Apparition, (1824–25)
Kyoko Ina and Stefania Berton
Capodanno On Ice 2012
Lady Gaga in drag as Jo Calderone.
Kate Moss @ Blumarine 1993
i sleep diagonally so i wake up to a dutch angle view of my ceiling symbolising my descent into madness
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind, which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."
Sylvia Plath, 'The Bell Jar'