we'll all float on anyway

My main blog is @audarcy. This is where I put all of the nicest posts.

[loveridden1999]

[xanaxfarts]

Gem Cities by Neave Bozorgi

[kedamakedama]

月と鷹/柳の下

[patronsaintofweepingmothers]

"17th december 2013 view from the printer cupboard!" (2013), penny veitch

[yayplants]

i love these flowers

[1five1two]

[pokemonarchive]

天体観測 — Astronomical Observation (2024) Illustrator: 朽葉

[claypigeonpottery]

another commission! a pair of sea otters persisting, despite the horrors

(and a slightly better view of the otter on the right)

[osteopunk]

Howling Dark, by Christopher Ruocchio (DAW Books, 2019)

[claypigeonpottery]

sold

[todayintokyo]

Rainy season by モモ

[havingapoemwithyou]

Grateful by Leonard Cohen

[ojibwa]

every time i remember that photo of the little inuk girl with her puppy i engage in inconsolable hysterics

[ojibwa]

this is it. this is the photo of all time

[heartpeacenquiet]

[rosieandthemoon]

Mt Rainier National Park

[patronsaintofweepingmothers]

"antique store, portland" (2006), lovely librarians

[polkadotmotmot]

Sonya Sklaroff - Rainbow Flag, 2017 - Oil on panel

[gothish]

[ub-sessed]

White Americans ... are terrified of sensuality and do not any longer understand it. The word “sensual” is not intended to bring to mind quivering dusky maidens or priapic black studs. I am referring to something much simpler and much less fanciful. To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread. ... Something very sinister happens to the people of a country when they begin to distrust their own reactions as deeply as they do here, and become as joyless as they have become. It is this individual uncertainty on the part of white American men and women, this inability to renew themselves at the fountain of their own lives, that makes the discussion, let alone elucidation, of any conundrum—that is, any reality—so supremely difficult. The person who distrusts himself has no touchstone for reality—for this touchstone can be only oneself. Such a person interposes between himself and reality nothing less than a labyrinth of attitudes. And these attitudes, furthermore, though the person is usually unaware of it (is unaware of so much!), are historical and public attitudes. They do not relate to the present any more than they relate to the person.

--James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time, 1963