One Nice Bug Per Day
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Kiana Khansmith
if i look back, i am lost
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
titsay
Origami Around
EXPECTATIONS
izzy's playlists!
cherry valley forever
Stranger Things
YOU ARE THE REASON
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Jules of Nature
Keni
Kaledo Art
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blake kathryn
d e v o n
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@obiwannabe
time space light
We’re all trapped in time, right? No dog, admit it – you are pinned DOWN in this conceptual morass. You can only pull up memories of the past (and they be dim as shit) or run some hypothetical imaginings of the future (and they be dim as shit). Now is all that you ever really see – but it’s always getting away from you. Humans invented time as a fable to explain and wallpaper over all the…
take great care
let me play starfield long enough and think about reincarnation and the ethos of multiverses long enough and you get stuff like this
Theban Diary #5
Just over a month until auditions. Or, as any aging director will tell you, the most important 48-72 hours of the entire process. There are things you can affect as a director. Notice I did not say control. Control is an illusion and the sooner you rid yourself of any belief in its existence, the better. Much like God, it probably does exist in some sort of quantum / impossible to perceive by…
high school story time
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Antigone is a terrible lizard.
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Theban Diary #2
Photo shoot this weekend! I love directing a photo shoot, boy howdy. Mainly because I wish I could take actually good photos – so instead I point my friend Matt’s actual talent at what I’m vaguely gesticulating towards. An image can be a perfect expression of an idea – or maybe several – evoking an entire world of feeling, frozen in a moment. Or if nothing else, just looking rad as hell. People…
Theban Diary #1
Now I lay me down to show prep, may my course be blessed by Hermes Threewizards. The future is unclear and storms unpredictable, but still I can put extra caulk between the boards of my hull and lay in as many oranges and packs of Buldak as this craft will allow. Preparing to direct a play is basically just an emotional exercise as nothing you plan will survive the first encounter with the enemy…
every moment of your life, from birth to death, constantly, while you aren't looking, there's some kind of weird shapes just moving around in the ocean. and the shapes are eating eachother sometimes too. and they might even dig holes. and all of this is happening during everything else that's going on. like think about the most important moment in your life. the thing that shaped you as a person. the entire time that was happening, far away, deep in the ocean, where no human has ever seen, there was some kind of wet sack with a weird protrusion flailing about in the water. maybe it even grabbed a fish. who knows. i don't. just think about that for a bit
drunk on seawater
There’s so many wrong ways to write it, so many blank alleys. The rain falls and the buildings are blind, windows with no lights. It is a wonder that anything exists at all, the rights and lefts of the mind that brought them to being so improbable. Only raw infinity makes them so, the dice are always rolling, the game always rigged. Sing with me, O Muse, just for a moment and I’ll find the way…
Supply Run
This has been sitting in my drafts for a couple of years. – Author Walking through snow is like ink on paper: convincingly permanent. The traveler’s toes were cold in their thin leather boots, but the crunch of his tracks writing their way between the trees remained satisfying. Crunch crunch crunch crunch, he echoed in his thoughts and watched the plume of steam float up from his open…
i don't even know how to tell you
who are you? who is the you I talk to when I come here, feeling some sort of responsibility to the invisible person – the pretend person that my mind makes like a mirror or a camera so I can turn and wink when the bit is good? this is the record, i suppose. notches in tree bark or ink on journal page – the same nothing, the same game, but still – the impulse. i came to say that i am still…
On the Purchase of Time
After the candles have burned down, after the goat’s blood has cooled. The black robes are getting clammy. Where was the bathroom? And your keys — are they in your jeans in the spare room you and the other acolytes used for changing? Asking for a ride after the Sacrament of the One Whose Eyes are Always Open is, in a word, cringe. Tonight is a not a blood orgy or you could just crash on one of…
Zaira of the Dawn by Thiago Lehmann
Evidence
I broke Jonas’ sword and I don’t know what that means. I wanted to do it, felt the hunger in my gut. Like breaking down a door or snapping a twig or putting your fist through spring ice. Easy, eager, energy, the satisfaction of it. The casual power of breaking. I knew what it could mean. His skill is my skill, his sword my words. I had to show I wasn’t afraid, throw the shining blade in the…
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Blasphemy Blue by Dominik Mayer
speaking
Hard to note this without undoing the statement, but I seem to be going mute. At least online, in the many glowing boxes, in the quiet rectangles. I’ll have a thought about a movie and just not say it. A friend will post a memory that I share, but I won’t comment. I’m definitely not writing any stories or poems. Maybe my relationship to speech is changing. I’m a passive reader, observer,…
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