ojovivo

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we're not kids anymore.
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2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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trying on a metaphor

pixel skylines
occasionally subtle
Today's Document

Discoholic 🪩

ellievsbear
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
cherry valley forever
Jules of Nature

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almost home
KIROKAZE
DEAR READER
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@so-happy-tears
Outtake from Nylon Magazine April 2016 Issue by Chris Schoonover
Nails by Fleury Rose
ETWKWWTWK
“Man is born to live, not to prepare for life.”
— Boris Pasternak, “Doctor Zhivago”
frostbitten leaves // Highrolls, New Mexico // 11.22.2015
Highrolls, New Mexico // 35mm // 11.27.2015
California Mirage, 2015
Olivia Bee
Klaus Leidorf
The Stream by John Francis Peters
John Francis Peters - The Stream
Photo: John Francis Peters
Inspired by Summer: A Photographer’s Long Journey Back Home
John Francis Peters revisits his hometown and discovers that the inspiration he needed to push his work to the next level was waiting for him in the Catskills
Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.
Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore
gathering, waiheke, 14
tom, waiheke, 14