Stranger Things
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
if i look back, i am lost
No title available
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Product Placement
Janaina Medeiros
Misplaced Lens Cap
cherry valley forever
styofa doing anything
⁂
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
hello vonnie
dirt enthusiast
h
NASA
trying on a metaphor
Jules of Nature
Kaledo Art
will byers stan first human second
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from South Korea
seen from Italy
seen from Vietnam
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@hardgrovei
Tumblr #:
whether the poem speaks of #devastation or #hope whether it happens #before or #after
as long as it causes a #reflection by the reader in some #point of view we can cause a #beginning of a #journey that will forever change the #time #after
"My God, I whispered. The radio said there is no god."
-Ricky Laurentiis, “No Ararat” (via evkenn17)
the author does a great job of showing contrasting views with this line
"The sky shook off his clothes and was brilliant. I tell you it was necessary: violence had to preface such beauty."
No Ararat. Ricky Laurentiis. (via rsparksblog)
I really liked how this was used to show the authors view of the storm
There was a storm. Then there wasn’t.
No Ararat - RICKY LAURENTIIS
This is a memory of the Coast: to each his own
Liturgy to the Mississippi Gulf Coast - NATASHA TRETHEWEY
They gave me summer--we threw stones & peed
seven testimonies - NICK FLYNN
They use words like "casualties" to speak of murder.
Arroz Poetica - ARACELIS GIRMAY
Don't you know the size of your library is in inverse proportion to the size of your penis?
Some Instructions on Black Masculinity Offered to my Black Friend by the White Woman He Briefly Dated, A Monologue - ROSS GAY
I’ll correct you and tell you it’s about history which is the blacksmith of our tongues. Our eyes.
Mistaken for Both the African American Poet Terrance Hayes and the African American Poet Kyle Dargan, Not One of Whom Looks Anything Alike - ROSS GAY
When I stop by McDonalds for a cheeseburger, no one suspects what I am.
What I Am - TERRANCE HAYES
The sun glitters spectacular as is the custom on May afternoons in Texas and yet comes through the years as a dull, smoky whiteness in the trees here in the photograph I am tired of looking at.
Onlookers with the Burning Body of Jesse Washington -
STEVE SCAFIDI
we were losing our bodies— digitized salt of bytes and speed we were becoming a powder—
Techno - DANA LEVIN
The one who lobs piss from the overpass, one who siphons gasoline, huffs hours crumpled in wood sheds, in warm oblivion, they’re perfecting crotch grab and spit, and got a mean pick and roll going on.
The Court of Forgetting - JAMES HOCH
They are all sweat, hustle, break, forgetting minutes, hours, deaths they’ve inhaled
The Court of Forgetting - JAMES HOCH
You can get there from here, though there’s no going home.
Theories of Space and Time - NATASHA TRETHEWEY
Port Hudson where their bodies swelled and blackened beneath the sun—unburied
South - NATASHA TRETHEWEY
I have never wanted another life, but I know the story of pursuit: the dream of a gate standing open, a grill and folding chairs, a new yard boxed in light.
Root - TERRANCE HAYES
