trying on a metaphor

oozey mess
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
dirt enthusiast
we're not kids anymore.
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
DEAR READER
No title available

Kiana Khansmith
No title available
Misplaced Lens Cap

Origami Around
Jules of Nature

roma★
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Peter Solarz

Andulka
Xuebing Du
art blog(derogatory)
seen from Bulgaria
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from Brazil

seen from United States

seen from Germany
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seen from Taiwan
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seen from India
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@parlorscope
I’ll block a bitch on ants.com
saw a car dragging a labubu facedown through the street
Beast
acrylic markers & gouache
The straight woman is unsatisfied with straight studio porn. She wants to get off to something in which the actors actually emote and show passion beyond canned moans from the women and, at best, vacant grunts from the men. She turns to gay porn. She knows it's not "for her," but neither was the straight porn, and at least the actors look like they're enjoying themselves. And for a short while she is satiated by Sean Cody et al, but she runs into the same problems she had to begin with. She was not looking at sex but a simulacrum of sex, trapped in Plato's cave. Unsatisfied, she turned to vintage gay porn, harkening to a time when most gay bars still had darkrooms and reliably smelled of piss and Amyl Nitrite. Here was the real thing, in all its animalistic passion. But she still couldn't immerse herself in the fantasy. She wanted the media to engage with her own imagination and meet her half-way, rather than having it spoonfed to her onscreen. She turned to yaoi, with its elongated figures reminiscent of mannerist portraiture, then bara, including hardcore BDSM scenes. But the tactile sensations depicted in the pages didn't do justice to their real life counterparts. She turned deeper into her own imagination, this time reading erotica. No, not the poolside paperbacks sold at Barnes and Noble. The good shit. Why then, was she still not satisfied? She dug deeper, searching for the true meaning of eroticism. She studied the psychoanalysis of Freud, the cultural criticism of Susan Sontag the feminist poetry of Audre Lorde. She took vacation time and flew to Europe, starting at the caves of Lascaux to explore the human urge to create, then traversed the Camino de Santiago on foot, along the way meeting a 56 year old carpenter from Burgos named Andrés, with whom she had an explosive affair. They both knew it couldn't last, which made them cherish each other's touch all the more. Upon flying home, she gave up. If her search for true eroticism never bore fruit this whole time, why would it now? It would take years before she stumbled upon the answer by pure happenstance: dubstep.
okay but why is he even called mr beast
He's the Antichrist
pants around my ankles. puke everywhere---in my hair, all over the front of my shirt, in the hair on my legs, on my underwear. drying on my glasses. get the vacuum out. stumbling, pissing myself, one shoe missing. fucking faded off that madam
commission
I would NOT eat a Chikorita but I have enough sense to know that it should be served cold with a strawberry balsamic vinegarette and a sprinkle of feta
someone please tell me the name of that one like postfurry artist who drew the emotionally resonant colored pencil drawings of anthro planes drowning in swimming pools and in hospital waiting rooms furry community come to my aid plssss
ok their name is sharkplane77. outsider art
Shower before poop, executed by troops / Poop before shower, you shall build the Great Tower
yearning for something