lapintiira

thoughts about science fiction. life. reality. emotions

[aurosoulart]

made a companion piece to Dawn

I also got a new print gallery!

[miildr3d-blog]

knife to throat, tien mon chère, es-tu triste? J'ai un anesthésique pour la balle entre tes dents - tu les serres comme il n'y a rien d'autre a faire!

[miildr3d-blog]

The Strings of Reality

Thinning hair fell across his scalp untidily - sticking every which way and several centimeters overgrown. Wisps of brown and ashy blond were strewn throughout his locks and when the light hit them created waves of colors between gold and bronze. His slightly tanned face made her uneasy, most of all because it seemed as if it meant that all came and went for him with ease, a carefree countenance that left vulnerable souls in his wake broken and burned. The lure and bait were his kind eyes and a deceivingly luminescent aura that blinded at first, yet when peering in on closer inspection became woven with darker threads of concealment and flightiness. While a calculating and cunningness flowed through those veins, ensnaring those who lingered long enough, sporadically leaving his face flush with anticipation; concealed quickly once more with an airy nonchalance. His lips were full and when he talked they held the expressiveness of the sea and betrayed the depths of the ocean; but were those his thoughts or did he take on those that were lingering in the nearby air around him? Was she jealous of the fact that he could play people like strings on a guitar? Play a beautiful tune then let it all go as soon as the song was finished, no messy hangups or emotions? Although from a distance everything seemed to be untroubled, one aspect of his body betrayed his sober preoccupations, a hunch between shoulder and neck, maybe a result of height, or maybe more-so a combination of unresolved matters and the aforementioned. All of that, however, could be forgotten the moment he revealed his hands, as they emanated an energy, foreign yet familiar, full of reassurance and vulnerability, free for anyone to touch if they’d just reach out. And yet they remained untouched: if the eyes are the window to the soul, the hands are extensions of the heart.

[miildr3d-blog]

Stained glass window Mother Mary looks down You ask her why? But she doesn’t respond All is lost. All is lost. The grief travels from where your head meets your neck Down your spine Look up little one. Don’t fear, she says Tout n’est pas perdu Tu n’es pas perdu(e)

Wrote this a few weeks ago, sharing now.

[01101010010101-10101001010110-d]

☆

[lopezvalentina2]

[soliloquyjewelry]

Cannot wait to get all of these babies plus tons more into the shop this Wednesday! (at Soliloquy Jewelry Studio)

[choiesclothes]

So cool~~ Just for share~

@ choiesclothes

[thegoodspellbook]

Rachel Entwistle’s jewelry lookbook’s are so magical.

[teensfashiion]

[ingridkytam]

[ingridkytam]

[caughtinyourhipster]

[tattoosandsickshit]

[miildr3d-blog]

The Slant Truth

The slant truth is really getting out of hand. Around a circle we go, until we end up digging ourselves into a hole that's too deep to escape. And we don't notice how far down we are, until we've hit some kind of bottom. 

[raid71]

Asleep - limited edition screen print

[tenpoundpill]

My childhood is streets upon streets upon streets upon streets. Streets to define you and streets to confine you, with no sign of motorway, freeway or highway.

Morrisey (2013) - Autobiography  (via tenpoundpill)