girls own the void !!!

[krasnoarmeyets]

under my totalitarian regime being a housewife will not be allowed. you WILL become an accomplished scientist

[sonbunny]

[sonbunny]

[drcgonhide]

Visit Original Link

[pavnet]

logging back into tumblr just to find this 8 years later

[cosmonautroger]

[violaobanion]

THE PURSUIT OF LOVE 2021 | dir. Emily Mortimer

[cyberglittter]

denim details by juntae kim

[cosmicanger]

Lucky 7 cow reblog for good luck

[zegalba]

Thierry Mugler Costumes from Shakespeare’s MacBeth (1985)

[woahski-broski]

saw a nice poem and lost it:-(

[euripideez-nuts]

been searching for the og post all day 😭

[eternalsummer2006]

stinkytofubaby on instagram

[jstorarticle]

June Jordan, “Poem Number Two on Bell’s Theorem, or The New Physicality of Long Distance Love”

[metamorphesque]

Jeffrey McDaniel, “The Quiet World”

[metamorphesque]

I have so much love in me that I would like to cry.  

Simone de Beauvoir, Kayleb Rae Candrilli, Sylvia Plath, Clarice Lispector

buy me a coffee

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“But longing is momentum in disguise: It’s active, not passive; touched with the creative, the tender, and the divine. We long for something, or someone. We reach for it, move toward it. The word longing derives from the Old English langian, meaning ‘to grow long,’ and the German langen—to reach, to extend. The word yearning is linguistically associated with hunger and thirst, but also desire. In Hebrew, it comes from the same root as the word for passion. The place you suffer, in other words, is the same place you care profoundly—care enough to act.”

— Susan Cain, from Bittersweet: How Sorrow and Longing Make Us Whole (Crown, 2022)

[luthienne]

claire schwartz, from poetry rx as featured in the paris review

[eatpussypraylove]

“When you made that forever-promise, you lived in a moment so full it offered you a perch to glimpse the rest of your lives. That is a gift.”

[hard2begood1]

ball point heat mirage

[lunchboxpoems]

YOUR DAMAGE

Some days the lake eats your face. Some days the car eats the key. Other days you deposit ten minutes of sob into a trash can. Your childhood home will not be yours again. You won’t walk out of those woods you wish you never entered. Much of your early adulthood, and mine, was coming up with innovative ways to vomit, and then innovative ways not to vomit. My roommate holds my face steady, pushes the earplug in with a flick, like fake eyelashes. Fans my waterlogged childhood books on the fire escape, pausing to flip through the one with owls in tight sweaters. I’m in a striped cotton dress without shoes or a bra. Maybe it’s evening. Tankard of Pedialyte. Ghost cat stepping across my chest. Everything inside burns. You have to remember this was back when we had to take cabs, so we take a cab. My roommate tells me the bangle bracelet is a Sea-Band. Puts a wig over my hair and an all-day sucker in my hand, like going to a rave. Jams my heels into heels. Drags my heels into the cab. When we reach my childhood home, which probably looks very much like yours, we realize we brought nothing to throw. So I throw my voice around every tree, into the chimney my father built, across the yard where my ghost dog still ghosts.

MARY BIDDINGER

[spacehunter-m]

I love John Carpenter’s (1978, dir. John Carpenter)