[AMANITA MUSCARIA] Art Doll
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Cosmic Funnies
RMH
One Nice Bug Per Day
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

No title available
The Bowery Presents
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
sheepfilms

Kiana Khansmith
noise dept.

Product Placement
Misplaced Lens Cap
occasionally subtle

izzy's playlists!

if i look back, i am lost
untitled
KIROKAZE
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

oozey mess
seen from Canada
seen from Panama

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Ecuador

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from Kuwait
seen from United States
seen from Denmark

seen from Germany
seen from Brazil

seen from Russia
seen from Türkiye

seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from France
seen from United States
@sentientlullaby
[AMANITA MUSCARIA] Art Doll
Blessed Priest by Bogdan Rezunenko
“Don’t Work with Death!”
“Don’t work with death, because then you invite it into your house.”
Death is already in my house. Death is everywhere. Death is what decays the plant matter that feeds my garden. Death is what feeds the herbs I use in my spells, for each grows from what died before it.
Death is what feeds my family - death of plants, the death of animals. I would not disrespect the spirits of that which feeds us by ignoring their sacrifice.
Death is the veil between my ancestors and myself, keeping them at rest and then acting as the gate for them to step into their next life.
When I do hospice work and sit with someone who is accepting their approaching death, I don’t tell them death is something to fear or avoid. I tell them death is the friend that walked beside them, every step of their life, maintaining the balance of the world, and waiting for them with open arms, to escort them to rebirth.
“Don’t work with death!”
I would not ignore life’s partner, not for arrogance or fear or ignorance. When I go to my own, I want to greet death with respect, acceptance, and gratitude.
toxic love
Loie Fuller
goblin hour is every hour when your are. a goblin
-casting dark spells from my crypt-
© feralraven
main tumblr: @ravenbirth
do not remove credit
Daniel Zrom Dream, 2016
Jean-Baptiste Bertrand (1823-1887) Ophelia
im going to the forest does anybody want anything?
pined cone
White Night, Black Stars, Dim Carcosa by David LaRocca
Hey there! I made a cheat sheet for Lorentz boosts, because I can never remember which Lorentz boost takes a particle from rest to a certain velocity and vice-versa. Perhaps this could be useful to you too?
Good luck in your studies and best wishes!
Magic Mirror, 2013, Sarah Pucill
伊藤潤二「コレクション」(Junji Ito: Collection)
Real Analysis Gothic
For every epsilon there is a delta. Where is it? Epsilon does not know where delta is. Zero does not know where delta is, it is too far away. Nobody knows where delta is; every number is so far from the other numbers. They are getting further apart. Epsilon is so very small.
You are walking up a staircase. You try to take a step, but another step emerges in the middle. A hooded figure appears at the top. You scream and try to run downstairs, but this staircase has so many steps. It is getting closer, closer.
You compute a Fourier series at a point; it is different than the value of the function. That’s normal, you say, unconvinced, as you are overwhelmed by a sense of dread. You start to apply the inversion formula, but think better of it. You still have scars from the last time.
You cut yourself into three pieces and eat the middle one. It hurts, yes, but you are so tender. You do it again and again and again and again… Your mouth eats your mouth. You are perfect.
A year ago today you were teaching calculus. “So you see, it’s easier to take derivatives than integrals” you said. You coughed, the blood splattered out of your mouth, it formed Thomae’s function on the floor. Now you are at the same point in your lesson plan. The stain is still there. It looks up at you, expectantly.
You are talking to a complex analyst. Differentiable functions are smooth, he says. Bounded differentiable functions are constant, he says. What are you doing, he says. I’ll call the police, he says. He doesn’t say anything now.