hey there, georgie girl

27. not a southern belle, but a southern bramble.

[lifeinpoetry]

I’m an adult and feel less urgent every day.

Alex Dimitrov, from “Always,” Together and By Ourselves (via lifeinpoetry)

[brownhyena-deactivated20180822]

[angelkarafilli]

Buster Keaton, 1929; Hollywood New Year’s publicity photo.

[rainyday-recess]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

The first beautiful songs you hear tend to stay beautiful because better than beauty, which is everywhere, is the memory of first discovering beauty.

Sarah Manguso, from 300 Arguments: Essays (Graywolf Press, 2017)

[elza32358]

Vintage happy New Year greeting card.

[iopanosiris-deactivated20210713]

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light; The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “Ring Out, Wild Bells” (via iopanosiris)

[chunkycorduroy]

[hummuses-deactivated20180726]

How to Help Online

Funds for Alton Sterling

Funds for Philando Castile

White House Petition to Create a Federal Law Agency Dedicated to Supervising the Behavior of All Law Enforcement Agencies 

[micdotcom]

In back-to-back tweet storms, writer and editor Ijeoma Oluo detailed a frustrating reality that many white people angered by the situation frequently overlook. Black people keep dying at the hands of law enforcement because few of those with power are doing anything to prevent it. Sympathetic sentiment, she said, is not enough. In the following tweets, she listed 14 ways to actually enact change.

[beylenciaga]

and countless others.

[itwasntrainingyet]

[frankjavcee-deactivated20201209]

[kafkaesque-world]

1 July. Too tired.

Franz Kafka, Diaries  (via unefemmediscrete)

[tenderqueerthings]

tenderqueerthings #43, Mar Pascual. 2016.

[thecuriouspianist]

The Sonata // Childe Hassam, 1911 [via]

[wordsnquotes]

She had a passionate longing for the garden, the darkness, the pure sky, the stars.

Anton Chekhov, “After the Theatre”  (via just-a-spring-haze)