Flit flit flit
Like a sheeny shiny fish looping round the bowl
Left left bink
Right right bink
Flit flit flit
Claire Keane
Sade Olutola
Monterey Bay Aquarium
One Nice Bug Per Day

titsay
No title available

izzy's playlists!

tannertan36
AnasAbdin
we're not kids anymore.

Discoholic 🪩
Three Goblin Art
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Sweet Seals For You, Always

#extradirty
will byers stan first human second
Show & Tell

oozey mess
DEAR READER
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

seen from United States

seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Singapore
seen from Canada

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Argentina
seen from Poland

seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from South Korea
seen from Estonia

seen from Türkiye

seen from Singapore

seen from Australia
@pluralityofreason
Flit flit flit
Like a sheeny shiny fish looping round the bowl
Left left bink
Right right bink
Flit flit flit
Above all what fascinates me is people - the relationships with themselves, with others, the weaving together of my life and yours and the institutions that bring us together. I strive to understand others' positions, their perception of a relationship, a situation... But I am always falling short, and don't allow myself to engage and really make the relationship what I imagine it could be. Just every once in a while I meet a person with whom it works - I feel conversation flowing as a natural, twisting thread with a beginning but no end, not the studied, choreographed back and forth performance that I am usually obligated to undertake. I wish it could be every time, every person.
Observing others from the outside, it so often seems an effortless relationship is something widely held, eluding I and I alone. Do they, too, feel the fear that I feel? The fear of being found out as incapable and simply devoid of what makes a human accessible, a friend?
Arcing across the restless, frothing, flowing grey of the water, the bridge stands proudly, quietly connecting the neighbourhood to the main body of the city. Wrapped up in scaffolding, tarpaulin, graffitied tags both faded and fresh, its muted green structure peeks through, waiting until it is finally returned to its former glory. To sit by its side in summer is to see the sun beam down upon the Rhine transforming it from a grey industrial waterway to a gleaming blue ribbon through the city.
Not I, a fly
Oh how I wish I could be a fly
And flit about upon the sky
Who cares about all this and that
Or bothers themselves about a spat
Not I, not I
A little fly
Oh how I wish I were an otter
Float and roll and around I'd totter
The currents would drift me away from home
Happy I would be to roam
Not any bother
For this little otter
On loss of creativity
The greatest fear, in the forefront, the back, everywhere in my mind – this is all I have to give. Reproduce, regurgitate, nothing new or novel.
It seemed back then, back when, it all flowed and streamed out of my pen, through my mind, my fingers, the ink and the page.
At what stage did it dry up, curl up, give up
My mind, blank
reduced to the practical
the pragmatic
Completing tasks tick
tick
tick
Looking inwards, casting and casting, retrieving all but nothing
Empty handed and wondering where it all went.