Oscar Wilde, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Oscar Wilde

oozey mess
noise dept.

Jimmy Eat World
The Bright Sessions
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

blake kathryn
No title available
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
untitled
Keni
Phantogram Three
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Mike Driver
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
EXPECTATIONS

pixel skylines
RMH
occasionally subtle
Sade Olutola

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@gothicpierrot
Oscar Wilde, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of Oscar Wilde
Aleksandra Waliszewska @aleksandrawaliszewska
Atlas (2025) by Becky Tucker Glazed stoneware, strappings dyed with indigo leaf 153x80x50cm
— Louise Glück, from "Averno" (via lunamonchtuna)
Harvard / Albert Camus / Rainer Maria Rilke / Charles Bukowski
In his old age, James McNeill Whistler used to walk down to the Atlantic shore carrying a few thin planks and his paints. On the planks he painted, day after day, in broad, blurred washes representing sky, water, and shore, three blurry light-filled stripes. These are late Whistlers; I like them very much. In the high Arctic I thought of them, for I seemed to be standing in one of them. If I loosed my eyes from my shoes, the gravel at my feet, or the chaos of ice at the shore, I saw what newborn babies must see: nothing but senseless variations of light on the retinas. The world was a color-field painting wrapped round me at an unknown distance;
James McNeill Whistler- various seascapes from 1893-1900 //Annie Dillard, An Expedition to the Pole
byzantine mosaic
Museo Nacional de Beirut
but! we! cannot! simply! sit! and! stare! at! our! wounds! forever!
it’s because you’re always in that damn hole that resembles the grave but isn’t
sofia coppola photographed by jon baker, 2004
Dolce & Gabbana (1992)
James Baldwin.
In a Mexican Restaurant I Recall How Much You Upset Me, Ada Limón
oh and you know they loved laika. the technicians? they called her laika globally but in the training facility they called her little bug and curly and little lemon and when they put her into the capsule, right before they closed the hatch, they kissed her nose and wished her bon voyage. they knew that she was not coming back and had already lived a hard life and yet the night before launch one of the scientists took her home to play with his children. "I wanted to do something nice for her: She had so little time left to live."
Haupt der Medusa by Franz von Stuck (1892)
Sarah Fier’s Cursed Hand by Houston Sharp (detail)