poe george @llamentforicarus - Tumblr Blog

stimutax

I’m legally required to post this every Halloween

boringangel

Robin Williams in Issey Miyake on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno (1997)

polkadotmotmot

Christine Hong - Lighter, 2025 - Acrylic, Gouache, and Modeling Paste

frompalestinewithlove

Seen in Bethlehem

lamignonette

hiadammarshall

Orange and Yellow Hills

Follow hiadammarshall.com / Instagram

greatestlittlegiant

always thinking of that “i couldn’t stop wasting time” quote

greatestlittlegiant

song of the summer!!

metamorphesque

We Have Not Long To Love, Tennessee Williams

heavensghost

‘Love is an organic thing. It rots and softens.’

Words by Clementine Von Radics

saints-who-never-existed

“In the war film, a soldier can hold his buddy—as long as his buddy is dying on the battlefield. In the western, Butch Cassidy can wash the Sundance Kid’s naked flesh—as long as it is wounded. In the boxing film, a trainer can rub the well-developed torso and sinewy back of his protege—as long as it is bruised. In the crime film, a mob lieutenant can embrace his boss like a lover—as long as he is riddled with bullets.

Violence makes the homo-eroticism of many “male” genres invisible; it is a structural mechanism of plausible deniability.”

–Tarantino’s Incarnational Theology: Reservoir Dogs, Crucifixions, and Spectacular Violence. Kent L. Brintnall.

lunchboxpoems

BOB HICOK

textid

text ID: THE EULOGY I DIDN'T GIVE (XXIV)

My younger brother was afraid of thunder, lightning. My father bought a recording of storms, put it on the stereo, and rocked on the love seat with my brother over and over, until the sound meant comfort, warmth. Much later, my brother became obsessed with meteorology and dreamed of becoming a weatherman. When I finally connected the early fear with the later passion, we were looking down at my father in his coffin. Not my father but his body. More like an echo of his flesh. No weather on his face. I’d seen him often in a suit but never wearing a vest. Pajamas would have made more sense. The soft rain of the talking all around us was a cocoon I wanted to live inside. I heard the metronome of my heart and thought of Quakers waiting for silence to open its mouth. Of the hope just below the surface of the phrase, keeping time. - Bob Hicok