Anya Hindmarch AW16
These eggs are made of MINK. *heart eyes emoji*
will byers stan first human second
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Claire Keane
styofa doing anything

JVL

izzy's playlists!
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noise dept.
Cosmic Funnies
Cosimo Galluzzi
$LAYYYTER

shark vs the universe
Peter Solarz

Product Placement

★
🪼
almost home
tumblr dot com
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON

seen from Brazil

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
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seen from Canada

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seen from Malaysia
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@pantherhooves
Anya Hindmarch AW16
These eggs are made of MINK. *heart eyes emoji*
Hey You, Come Back.
[ #tbt event review by Michael Shattuck ]
Organized and Hosted by Jenny Xie and Jessica Hudgins. Poetry by Suzie Doogan, Fiction by Courtney Sender and Khaliah Williams, at The Crown 2016 Thursday February 4, 20:00 EST.
Everything is wet outside. Crowd collects around the Blue Room’s L shaped bar, only 8:15, a clamor of welcoming. 2016 is a month old but a dimension slightly different, “everything stolen and replaced with an exact replica.”
Sole blond bartender gracefully orchestrates the simmering audience. Chain of rainbow Christmas sparks overhead, a hush a nanosecond long. Sullen artists hiding. “It happens so quickly” here to soak up the light and moisture in the glasses.
With an implication of swords the chatter cut quiet by a song – attention to time and sequence focuses the chaos and poets. Not flagless or united sitting in the ordered space of the hardwood lacquered floor, half-frown smiles and leg-shifts and question the integrity of our choices, like the “kitchen mug / our favorite / that our loved one broke” and that too replaced.
We listen like search engines filling in the previous entries before we hit enter / return and pay attention, lock the seat belt, we wait to hear what we’ve been waiting for our entire lives, “Welcome home.” And wait for the funny part please, please give or allow some distance as a part of this whole thing.
Recall ancient myths of ourselves, our friends, loves, families, are skeptical of ourselves, unsure that’s why we pull up a chair or sit on the floor and listen over a search engine that runs on fear, even the perfect, the objects of envy, maybe most of all. These are just the ground elements of one amplified “long goodbye.” Crowd is rapt in patience.
Fueled and ready for the wet web of sidewalks outside. Long suffering concrete split from the invading ice seeping into and stretching out the breaks.
As I leave I think I should have been a secret agent with a bottle of oil, silencing the knuckles of screaming hinges.
A review of the Hey You, Come Back! February reading from my pal Mike!
1-800-JANUARY
Etsy seller LAPHILIE churns out my personal nightmare, hand-painting swarms of ants on porcelain. Gorgeous and unsettling.
cat coven
Vintage Moschino skirt via
Marina Molares
Tonight a girl with a fistful of blood shoved her used tampon down the neck of an empty beer, squeezing out the juice in red lava runs.
He shut the door behind them. In the ultra-violet his face appeared deeply tanned, the whites of his eyes now tinged with a faint blue life, like shark's meat. "My name is Higher-and-Higher," he said.
nightmare sentence from Denis Johnson’s Angels
Gucci s/s 16
My father had a thing he used to say to us when we were growing up, and it is so simple: ‘Everybody, one at a time.’ He explained that the idea was not to make any assumptions about the people we would come into contact with in our lives — not to believe or be influenced by the stereotypes and prejudices of life in the world, but to see each person first as an individual someone: everybody, one at a time.
Richard Bausch, Why Literature Can Save Us (via powells)