kissing booth

ig:@joandidionfanclub

[ryebreadgf]

[89cats]

(source)

[pinkbookshelf]

Animal Forest e+ Nintendo Official Guidebook 2003

[grupaok]

R.H. Quaytman, from Loft, Chapter 4, 2005

[dsunearthed]

Chrysanthemum at Shinjuku Gyoen Park, Tokyo, 2005

[weepingwidar]

Casey Weldon (US-American, 1979) - Curtains (2026)

[oilpalette]

Girl In Window, 2026 by Nigerian artist Kamsi Ofili

[holedyke]

girls rock

[azurea]

Sighs, the rhythms of our heartbeats, contractions of childbirth, orgasms, all flow into time just as pendulum clocks placed next to one another soon beat in unison. Fireflies in a tree flash on and off as one. The sun comes up and it goes down. The moon waxes and wanes and usually the morning paper hits the porch at six thirty-five.

Time stops when someone dies. Of course it stops for them, maybe, but for the mourners time runs amok. Death comes too soon. It forgets the tides, the days growing longer and shorter, the moon. It rips up the calendar. You aren't at your desk or on the subway or fixing dinner for the children. You're reading. People in a surgery waiting room, or shivering outside on a balcony smoking all night long. You stare into space, sitting in your childhood bedroom with the globe on the desk. Persia, the Belgian Congo. The bad part is that when you return to your ordinary life all the routines, the marks of the day, seem like senseless lies. All is suspect, a trick to lull us, to rock us back into the placid relentlessness of time.

— Lucia Berlin, "Homing". From A Manual for Cleaning Women (Picador, 2015)

[pjharvey-moved-deactivated20250]

i am an ally to all embarrassing and uncool women forever and ever

[neueclear-deactivated20260325]

“Out of Body” Artwork by Wani Souma

[pollen]

Czeslaw Milosz, from "Ars Poetica?"

[altargrl]

summer is for horror

[kosmogrl]

what doesn’t kill me leaves a pit in my stomach that never goes away

[georgecuntanza]

american library association’s READ poster ft buffy cast

[werenotreallystrangers]

a lot of your suffering comes from treating your nature like a problem to manage instead of a design to understand

[singing-bowl]

thinking about how ursula k leguin said "what goes too long unchanged destroys itself. The forest is forever because it dies and dies and so lives" and how everyday i wake up slightly different and i can feel myself shed the skin of who i used to be slowly, slowly, until i look back and can scarcely recognise who i was... but also she is still a part of me, part of the leaf litter and the humus, supporting me as i send new roots down and new leaves stretching up to the sunlight