Gonna take a break from tumblr. Peace.

JBB: An Artblog!
cherry valley forever
hello vonnie
Stranger Things
No title available
Cosimo Galluzzi

@theartofmadeline
we're not kids anymore.
h
RMH
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Xuebing Du
Misplaced Lens Cap
Today's Document
YOU ARE THE REASON

oozey mess
Three Goblin Art
Keni
No title available
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@moojeegay
Gonna take a break from tumblr. Peace.
Even though Hotdiggitydogblog is not here anymore, we will always appreciate the happiness and the joy that Max and his owners had shared with us. You and your goofy smile will not be forgotten Max!
I once dated a writer and
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything. They forget appointments and anniversaries, but remember what you wore, how you smelled, on your first date… They remember every story you’ve ever told them - like ever, but forget what you’ve just said. They don’t remember to water the plants or take out the trash, but they don’t forget how to make you laugh. Writers are forgetful because they’re busy remembering the important things.
Oh, my heart is melting.
"Are these treats vegan?"
There are some people out there that still believe that animals are just dumb beasts, but the unlikely animal friendships I’ve gathered here will prove that they are capable of feeling love and compassion just like we are.
take it away penny
I really hope people get this reference
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used— She stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late, Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and Would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and Found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering Questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag— And was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers— Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands— Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped —has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)
When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.
(via bookoisseur)
I’m really glad I read that.
(via selfesteampunk)
holy fucking shit i’m so sick of seeing this post with the credit taken off it
it’s a series by Tammy Rae Carland titled Lesbian Beds and deals with representation and intimacy really well and you’re stripping it of that just for your ~aesthetic~ holy fuck
Tammy Rae Carland speaks about the Lesbian Beds series
awwwkotacoo YOUR BED WOULD FIT PERFECTLY WITH THESE BEDS lol
Do you ever just crave someone’s presence? like you would literally be happy just sitting next to them & it could be completely silent.
Unknown (via canhappenlove)
We Are All Made of Stars