jeg har skrevet en novelle
Pigen lærte sig selv at vaske sig.
hvis man vil læse
Jules of Nature
Fai_Ryy
Xuebing Du
The Bowery Presents

if i look back, i am lost
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
macklin celebrini has autism
No title available
cherry valley forever

ellievsbear
will byers stan first human second

Kiana Khansmith
NASA

PR's Tumblrdome
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Claire Keane
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Keni
seen from United States
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seen from Greece

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia

seen from Argentina
seen from Mexico
seen from Brazil
seen from Austria
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Germany
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seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
@ridofme1993
jeg har skrevet en novelle
Pigen lærte sig selv at vaske sig.
hvis man vil læse
Brian Wilson went to bed for three years. Jean-Michel Basquiat would spend all day in bed. Monica Ali, Charles Bukowski, Marcel Proust, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Tracey Emin, Emily Dickinson, Edith Sitwell, Frida Kahlo, William Wordsworth, René Descartes, Mark Twain, Henri Matisse, Kathy Acker, Derek Jarman and Patti Smith all worked or work from bed and they’re productive people. (Am I protesting too much?) Humans take to their beds for all sorts of reasons: because they’re overwhelmed by life, need to rest, think, recover from illness and trauma, because they’re cold, lonely, scared, depressed – sometimes I lie in bed for weeks with a puddle of depression in my sternum – to work, even to protest (Emily Dickinson, John and Yoko). Polar bears spend six months of the year sleeping, dormice too. Half their lives are spent asleep, no one calls them lazy. There’s a region in the South of France, near the Alps, where whole villages used to sleep through the seven months of winter – I might be descended from them. And in 1900, it was recorded that peasants from Pskov in northwest Russia would fall into a deep winter sleep called lotska for half the year: ‘for six whole months out of the twelve to be in the state of Nirvana longed for by Eastern sages, free from the stress of life, from the need to labour, from the multitudinous burdens, anxieties, and vexations of existence’.
— Viv Albertine, To Throw Away Unopened.
The trail up to the summit was covered in wild blackberries that were just turning ripe. We stopped and ate for a while before continuing the climb.
from “ask polly: why should i keep going?”
Fiona Apple // photo: Dan Monick, 2012 [x]
im so sick of unnecessary dinner scenes in movies 😡 every fucking movie they just want to titillate you with some food because they think you’re a dumb animal who just wants to see mashed potatoes bouncing. if its an IMPORTANT dinner scene where they explain lore then whatever i understand. but they shove useless meals into every movie these days and its disgusting
really? you don’t say
i bet girls hated it in 1902 cuz you would constantly go on dates w guys who are working on an invention to present at the world fair
wheres the cocteau twins summer tweet
No matter how shitty it might feel in the moment, most of the time when someone comes to you to communicate a boundary or a need or a negative feeling about something you did, it is actually a compliment. They are telling you BECAUSE they care about you and want it to work between you and because they trust you to care to do better. If they didn't care about you, they'd just avoid you. That uncomfortable convo is in fact a declaration of love and trust. Or at least intention of friendship. If they didn't like you, they'd just try to avoid you whenever possible. They wouldn't care to have The Talk (which is often scary and uncomfortable for them also). So try to treat their trust with care, even if it really upsets you to learn that you've accidentally hurt them
the idea that a sex scene in fiction is fundamentally useless/simply for audience titillation UNLESS they’re fucking infodumping exposition while they bone or something is so funny and myopic to me. like, you really genuinely believe for real that there is NOTHING to be gained about your understanding of a story or characters simply from how they approach and engage in sex? really for real?
i'm not convinced that art only has something to offer us when we personally want to participate in the activities being depicted
i genuinely feel like im being edged
my mom once told me i was a ski jumper in a past life because she dreamed about a ski jumper dying in a terrible accident when she was pregnant with me, and said it was definitely true cause the ski jumper in her dream was also blonde. i never had the heart to tell her this is absolutely not something catholics can believe.