dirt enthusiast

pixel skylines
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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One Nice Bug Per Day

Kiana Khansmith

@theartofmadeline
AnasAbdin
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
i don't do bad sauce passes

oozey mess
Today's Document
DEAR READER
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occasionally subtle
Jules of Nature

shark vs the universe
wallacepolsom
almost home
seen from United Kingdom
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@pinkcanbepunk
“Attending” (1973) by Hreinn Fridfinnsson ◇ Mirror in hand reverses above and below
Ken was created from Barbie’s rib
(To the tune of Rasputin): BLEH BLEH DRACULA, KING OF TRANSYLVANIA, HE IS A BAT AND ALSO A MAN
I have GOT to stop spending $30
TICKET TO HEAVEN | EP 1
Happy Memorial Day
count dracula? uhhh ok. one
🧛 nathing vrong vith me
Growing up, my brother and I deeply dreaded going shoe shopping. It took hours, especially if it was for winter boots. My dad would examine the stitching, the brand reliability, the temperature recommendations, every piece of information he could get his hands on, and then when he'd finally found the right brand, it was on to making absolutely dead sure they fit properly - he had a particular way of poking the toe of the boot to ensure our foot was where it was supposed to be that always drove me nuts. This was always on a weekend, and it was about the worst punishment we could imagine.
Years later, I found out that he'd spent his entire childhood on the Canadian prairies with cold feet. My grandmother just bought whatever boots looked like the best value, regardless of whether they'd keep anyone warm. They'd kept him from frostbite, probably, but never, ever comfortable.
The reason my grandmother never had a thought about this was because she was buying her kids real boots. There was a sort of magical quality about real, purpose-made boots that meant that of course they'd work, because when she was growing up on the Canadian prairies, they had the kind of no money that meant you just stuffed some newspaper into your shoes and soldiered on.
The last pair of winter boots my dad bought for me was 15 years ago, in preparation for a three-month stint living in northern Quebec in midwinter. They cost $200 then, or something like it. I've worn them every year since, driving out to the remotest locations on the Canadian prairies and never once thinking about my feet.
When I read the Vimes Boots Theory for the first time, it rang a bell that reverberated back three generations.
My very first tiger drawing and my latest
Your skill level is unquestionable but listen.
I love him.
me also. as well.
This is the COOLEST thing I’ve seen in AGES. You both completely made my entire week.
if my name was "wolfgang amadeus" i would also be getting a lot of shit done
i hope they never stop using floppy disk icons to indicate saving your file. doesn't matter how obsolete they are it's like honouring someone with a portrait on your currency
Every morning, I put on my thinking cap and my smartiepants. Unfortunately, there is no shirt that properly proclaims my intellectual abilities, so I have to go tits out
my corner store guy is a 50 year old man who's my best friend in the world and recently he was like "you're too pretty to be single I have some nephews you should meet. very handsome!" and I was like "a niece might be more up my alley" and he just got more excited and said "ah even better! I was overselling my nephews but my nieces are very beautiful"
OP the tags!!
crazy how i find myself thinking i've got a handle on it all finally and then i see the ways that other people tangle their lives together so easily and live so easily together with their friends and i feel like that girl at the top of the stairs painting by norman rockwell
i'll always be here
i cannot overstate how good it feels to watch older movies where the actors were still allowed to look kinda weird and not be conventionally attractive. like it is genuinely healing
quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog