the perversions of quiet girls
we're not kids anymore.

Andulka
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Product Placement
Xuebing Du
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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Today's Document
Game of Thrones Daily
Peter Solarz
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
noise dept.

#extradirty
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Not today Justin
Stranger Things

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@ktheqw
the perversions of quiet girls
Quiet Music
A Sunday afternoon longing and a yearning for those fragments of what I thought I was before I took this path.
Rain droplets splatter the glass of my window, so I raise the blind to see the wind moving the unkempt grass, and I watch the droplets run down the glass.
I gather all of the friends from my dreams I have not yet met, and I hold them close to me like the ghosts of the loved ones who died.
Rain droplets continue to splatter the glass of my window, and the wind and the rain create music I often long to hear.
I revel in the quickening rain which showers the glass of my window, the increasing wind, and I wish for more of this quiet music.
Louise Glück, from ""Averno", Averno
Those words remind me of "Non-Places" such as Supermarkets, Airports, Train Stations, and the like.
I recall those words came about from Marc Auge (which I think has been touched upon by many since that book was published).
Those words remind me of myself in many ways, for those places I visited when I was young are gone.
The Melodies
They pierce the silence with the drums, they play around the burning pyre
They sing a song to give thanks to the forest as the embers move
The drums, the song, and the embers turning into dancing fireflies
They create melodies to move the forest and awaken the spirits
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Someone walked over my grave. The corners of the room keep the shadows, and the dim light reveals moving things I wish I could not see.
I fear the sparrows outside as insects crawl beneath my skin.
I feel Mum's embrace, remember screaming, and now I'm in a white room.
V.E. Schwab, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue
Lost in morning fog the headlights give me away Fresh wind on my face
Nature Arrives
Walking through the office door Me, out there in the swirling autumn leaves Inside, a new mask for today
Trading nature and her beauty for the chance to find meaning in a title I feel the wind in my hair
Nature followed me wind and leaves moving Bewildered colleagues
from the tropical north snow and ice greet a stranger no racism to be known
a calm freedom watching the sea_thatch with new eyes noises so foreign
to appreciate the difference coming to love the ways of ice and snow no longer foreign, my home
Building into the grief_of_the_elm_tree Feeling the buzz as the animals flee from sight Standing under the sky for a little longer
Beginnings and endings come together a joyous rapture thunders through flesh and bone in the distance, lightning hits the old tree
An explosion of wood sensations of gooseflesh and clarity Another tree hit closer
Fleeing for home
a cry from within You're all I have left to love please take me with you You quell the maddening day You illuminate the night
The Warning
a difference in the weather unforeseen changes the moss carpets our land
the wound-starling visits talkative, we feed our friend a spectre may haunt us
the sound of horses' hooves soldiers on the horizon we follow our friend to watch
a soldier lights a torch fire licks and devours our home our friend remains still
Gregory Orr, “Ask the tree or the house”, How Beautiful the Beloved
[Text ID: “That music has been playing Since you were born. You must be mad to resist it. Always the beloved Surrounds us. Eager to dance. All we have to do is ask.”]
The Photographs
A quiet gallery No need for words in this space the photographs fill the silence
Taken away Feeling the anemoia pulling me watching a scene from the past
Loud thoughts My thoughts are louder than bombs thundering through my experience
entering as one person, exiting as another evolution in the gallery