Help me down? You don’t dare. I might rub off on you, like soot or gossip. Birds of a feather burn together, though as a rule ravens are singular
Margaret Atwood, from ‘half-hanged Mary’ (via fliesintheattic)
$LAYYYTER

Discoholic 🪩
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Today's Document

shark vs the universe

Origami Around
almost home

Kaledo Art
Claire Keane
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Three Goblin Art

Janaina Medeiros
Xuebing Du
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trying on a metaphor
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
h
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

if i look back, i am lost
seen from Spain

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@honeypsyche
Help me down? You don’t dare. I might rub off on you, like soot or gossip. Birds of a feather burn together, though as a rule ravens are singular
Margaret Atwood, from ‘half-hanged Mary’ (via fliesintheattic)
I will place my hand in that flame and feel nothing. I will ask nobody’s forgiveness again.
Franz Wright, from God’s Silence: Poems; “Reparations,” (via violentwavesofemotion)
La Jetée (1962)
If ever you wanted to know how I heal, drink the dusk. Burn a ritual on your tongue. Bleed into a lover.
Leave your shadow everywhere you think the light could find it.
— Elisabet Velasquez, from “I Don’t Want to Be Known for Writing About My Trauma I Write in a New Poem I Am Writing About Writing About My Trauma,” published in Winter Tangerine
It’s not that he consumes me but that I consume myself, much like the ouroboros. I prepare for future suffering. I suffer today. I suffer so that the future suffering will feel like an old shoe. I’m a fish in a net, still living.
Jade Quinn, from “How to Eat Yourself,” published in Spilled Milk Magazine (via lifeinpoetry)
It’s important / for me to say I look for her still because someone has to. Someone / has to imagine her there
Paul Tran, from “Document,” published in 92Y (via lifeinpoetry)
Day Dreams (detail) Charles-Amable Lenoir
John Schoenherr
Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992)
Your soul is the priestess of memory, selecting, sifting, and ultimately gathering your vanishing days toward presence.
- John O’Donohue
Image: luminous artefact
Postcards | Instagram
Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) dir. Francis Ford Coppola
Through the slit of our open window, the wind comes in and flows around us, nothingness in motion, like time. The power of what is not there.
Margaret Atwood, from Shapechangers In Winter in “Morning In The Burned House” (via adrasteiax)
Franz Sedlacek (Austrian, 1891-1945)
Traum [Dream], 1932
Oil on plywood, 43 × 54.5 cm
via thunderstruck9
More Personal work today :)