pals, i’m moving this blog (not the posts,, just Conceptually) over to my main!! this blog will just be an archive from now on so if u wanna keep up with the same kinda content i post here, pls refollow me over at @mossyshadows !!🥰
sheepfilms
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if i look back, i am lost
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
hello vonnie
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Not today Justin
KIROKAZE

izzy's playlists!
Cosmic Funnies
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Three Goblin Art

tannertan36
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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RMH
occasionally subtle
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@janeaustten
pals, i’m moving this blog (not the posts,, just Conceptually) over to my main!! this blog will just be an archive from now on so if u wanna keep up with the same kinda content i post here, pls refollow me over at @mossyshadows !!🥰
Moomin stamps from 2018 🌸
alleycat gives unsolicited advice
lord of the flies is a depressing and violent book but its also so fucking funny when you think about it like. in a meta way. the author was a teacher at an all-boys school that hated every kid he taught and was SO sick of the ‘brit kids go on adventures’ genre that he wrote a full-length novel about them absolutely LOSING it and also every kid in the book was based off a kid in his class. like if that isnt the most hilarious shit ever
“If we meet each other in Hell, it’s not Hell.”
— Geoffrey Hill, from Broken Hierarchies: Poems 1952-2012 (Oxford University Press, 2014)
In ancient Greek you use the verb άρπάζειν, which comes over into Latin as rapio, rapere, raptus sum and gives us English rapture and rape – words stained with the very early blood of girls, with the very late blood of cities, with the hysteria of the end of the world. Sometimes I think language should cover its own eyes when it speaks.
— Anne Carson, from Norma Jeane Baker of Troy
Pride & Prejudice (2005)
chinese snuff bottle via 丨鶴廬丨
I don’t believe there is an artistic imperative to swap laughter for crying. Or “quit comedy” for “truth.” Laughter is not the opposite of the truth. When we laugh at a bad thing, that can be a big fuck you. An exercise in power and control. A claiming of irony and bawdiness. Of being unlikeable, unbelievable, unpalatable. Evidence that we survived. There can be joy in surviving and healing in joy.
Yara Rodrigues Fowler, Survivors Don’t Owe Anyone Their Stories - Electric Literature (via neoyorzapoteca)
As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty, Jonas Mekas (2000)
mini protest signs on flower petals
The Cincinnati Enquirer, Ohio, February 21, 1947
Do you still perform autopsies on conversations you had lives ago?
Donte Collins, "Thirteen Ways of Looking at Thirteen” (after Patricia Smith)“ (via buttonpoetry)
judith ayu by chelle chan