Dead dog with man

ellievsbear
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
sheepfilms
Not today Justin
Sade Olutola
Jules of Nature
One Nice Bug Per Day
Peter Solarz
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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Origami Around
DEAR READER
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
we're not kids anymore.
todays bird

★

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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Today's Document
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@geminitactics
Dead dog with man
I felt very honored when The Georgia Review asked if I wanted to be the featured artist in the spring issue of 2016. Today it arrived in my mailbox.
... and they silently fell into it and moved within the transparency of all things, yet they were visible to each other, their eyes transfixed on the ornery beauty constantly pouring out from the signal station
Valerie Marie Osten Shafer couldn't help but laugh as her grasp of reality slipped, or changed, and she knew she was not tied down by any shape or form, that indeed she was the creator of all things.
Schaeffer Ademaro Mandelbaum was arrested for opium smuggling in 1928.
therapy
Valerie Marie Osten Shafer first attended the Abschalten Sanatorium in 1917, where she under the supervision of dr Albert Ruben Hausenfelt Wassenschlagen was treated for melancholia and general fatigue.
Emmerich Sepp Edelweizen-Schnapphalden revisits the Gukkenwald Alps with Pfalzgräfin Ermengard Huette Schönburg-Glauchau in the winter of 1931
Gerard von Katterheinrich Wolstenstein devasted by the death of Valerie Marie Osten Shafer, didn’t marry until he met Zelma Odella Hoffenstaphen Rupenhoff in 1927. Later the following year they relocated from Berlin to Los Angeles.
Valerie Marie Osten Chafer’s little sister, Ludwiga Konstanze Osten Chafer, realizes her deep feelings for Anatol Samuel von Bismarck-Schönhausen as she rises from the Gukkenwald's wild spring
Nadine Edeltraud Achen Baader connects with her environment and experiences a revelation despite of her broken heart
Psychoanalyst Albert Ruben Hausenfelt Wassenschlagen with his favorite patient, Valerie Marie Osten Shafer
Gukkenwald never changed. It was the people who changed.
But like love the archers are blind Upon the green night, the piercing saetas leave traces of warm lily. The keel of the moon breaks through purple clouds and their quivers fill with dew. Ay, but like love the archers are blind!
Federico García Lorca
My eyes already touch the sunny hill. going far ahead of the road I have begun. So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp; it has inner light, even from a distance- and charges us, even if we do not reach it, into something else, which, hardly sensing it, we already are; a gesture waves us on answering our own wave... but what we feel is the wind in our faces.
Rilke
Sola, portrait.