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roma★
AnasAbdin
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

No title available

@theartofmadeline

Kaledo Art
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
todays bird
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

JVL
d e v o n

Love Begins
No title available
KIROKAZE

Discoholic 🪩
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

Janaina Medeiros
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
seen from Germany
seen from Serbia
seen from India
seen from Russia

seen from United States

seen from Spain

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Italy
seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France

seen from Ukraine

seen from T1
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Photoset.
SKY MALL IS A LESSON IN THE CULTURAL SOPHISTRY OF THE RULING CLASS FOR AN UPWARDLY ASPIRING BOURGEOISE. OR A FUN GAME FOR A BORED MIDDLING BOURGEOISE. OR ANGER PORN FOR THE BLEEDING HEART BOURGEOISE IN DENIAL. OR SADNESS PORN FOR THE RESIGNED, DEFEATED BOURGEOISE. OR A COUNTER-REVOLUTIONARY DISTRACTION.
Kool AD - Joke Book
A collection of riderless log flumes.
No disrespect, but isn’t writing books kind of for white people?
Kool AD - Joke Book
Brooker
The other day I was talking to a music fan who’d recently gone to see one of Kate Bush’s widely praised live appearances. Naturally I was keen to hear a first-hand account of this era-defining event, so I asked what it was like.
“The first half was great,” she said. “But the second half got a bit boring.”
Well that was jarring. For weeks I’d been told by seemingly everyone on the internet that witnessing Kate Bush live was a life-changing event; a transformative experience of staggering magnitude. Attendees described a sort of positive version of the climactic ark-opening sequence from Raiders of the Lost Ark, of thousands of people simultaneously overpowered by a work of supernatural genius. Apparently these people didn’t simply attend a rock concert – they were French-kissed by God. So majestic was the performance, all the molecules in their bodies were disassembled and temporarily rearranged into a pulsating jellyfish of pure enjoyment, basking helplessly yet blissfully on the shores of Lake Kate, before the stunning finale finally healed and reformed them and sent them on their way. They crawled from the venue on all fours, uncontrollably weeping and soiling themselves all the way home. Hours later, once they’d finished shaking, they went on Twitter and explained how even the typographical layout of the ticket stub had made them cry nine times. And yet here was someone shrugging at it all.