B.A. in English and working on a masters... I know this feel
Sweet Seals For You, Always

JBB: An Artblog!

shark vs the universe
sheepfilms
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
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Monterey Bay Aquarium
hello vonnie

Janaina Medeiros
No title available
Misplaced Lens Cap
we're not kids anymore.

Andulka
occasionally subtle
almost home

Origami Around

izzy's playlists!
Claire Keane
🪼
Show & Tell
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@krisi-mou
B.A. in English and working on a masters... I know this feel
RANDOM COMIC OF THE DAY
Boss Battle!
Love Is...
Love is a choice, but it is not mine - it is my reaction to His warm, enduring touch.
WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?!
Find out what happens to these guys who tried to tight-rope walk between hot-air balloons.
Everything is ending - Javier Jabalera & Mon Castel
ca. 1890, [cabinet card, portrait of dancer Miss Murdock, in a lovely costume], Moreno & Lopez of New York
via Luminous Lint, courtesy of Ohio State University, Jerome University Library, Charles H. McCaghy Collection of Exotic Dance from Burlesque to Clubs
Sex Trafficking
http://www.xojane.com/it-happened-to-me/sex-trafficking-in-the-us?utm_medium=facebook
Eugene de Salignac
Brooklyn Bridge, showing painters on suspenders, October 7, 1914
From New York Rises: Photographs by Eugene de Salignac
She Held Her Coffee and I Caught Sight of Grace, by Caitlin Lewis
I pause a moment and take it in. How she stands, waiting, with patience and poise, cupping a small coffee. Completely in peace as if the delicate way she brings it to her face, with pause, taking in the warmth before the breath escapes her lips, anchors her to a place that holds its own time. A law of time just as entranced by her beauty as any man still enough to take her in. Time that has taken notice of the silence of her soul, the peace of her spirit, and the patience within self control. Authority over time is not given her, but somehow, somewhere between the beginning and inevitable end of life, time took notice in its rushing through and encountered a soul touched by love in truest form. Time slowed its racing and still is embracing the sweet aroma left by it's creator. I watch her blankly stare, in stun of grace or joy found there, as steam departs the surface of her cup in subtle reaction to the perk of her lips.
Typewriter Series #648 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Windward signs traverse the fields upon which heavy shoulders heal. The action to their last request had left him scarred and dead at best.
Now lying on the windswept tides of grass, where time itself would cry, he sleeps in misery, the thought of death eternal, to him, brought.
Yet death is not...
Fireworks
Blooming wonders light the skies as celebration time is nigh. When flares of hope begin to fade, the mem’ries light the depths of space.
For eyes will hold to pictures past, our minds so tightly to them grasp; though lights of joyful wonder fade, the mem’ries light the depths of space.
And I will hold to wonders bright, though darkness takes the tone of life; Yes, I will see the beacons break - the mem’ries light the depths of space.