$LAYYYTER
todays bird
Sade Olutola
#extradirty
The Stonewall Inn
tannertan36
h
cherry valley forever
ojovivo
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
untitled
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hello vonnie
d e v o n
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Mike Driver
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Jimmy Eat World
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
KIROKAZE
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from Greece
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Egypt
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
@somethings-cosmic
I crave to be the blanket over your body as you twist and turn between the sheets,
Fitful sleep steeped in dreams i'll never see.
You are my mistletoe, every excuse to kiss you romance aside i dream of those lips
Hazy eyes closed bliss,
To be continued.
rip santa.
Working in Retail in under 3 minutes
i had to watch this like 5 times because of no captions but lmao if someone makes a transcript for this it would be bomb
transcript: “So we have these Santas at work, right, okay? We have black and we have white Santas. And they’re like creepy, five-foot tall, lifelike animatronic… like, Santas that hold plates of cookies and milk, and they kinda look like they could wake up and come to life and murder you in your sleep– and they don’t include batteries, but we have these Santas. Like nothing screams ‘festive holiday cheer’ like a big, hulking Santa. Um. Nothin’ will jingle your jangles more. So, um, this woman comes in and she’s like, “Do you have these?” and I’m like, “Oh my god, yeah!” So a couple weeks ago we sold out of our white Santas, and we are down to like, three black Santas. And so, I take her to the aisle, I show her the Santas, and the first thing out of her mouth is, “I’m not racist, but…” and I’m like, well, I can’t– I’m not in the position to decide if you are or not, but if like– if I could use context clues and infer, uh, I would say maybe that you might be. And three, we’re talking about Santa. Like– (stuttering) did we switch subjects? And so, um, I’m in like, I– the next thing that pops out of her mouth is like, “This is not right.” and I’m like, okay, I’m sorry, but this is what the picture was. And she’s like, “No. Santa is white.” And I’m like, oh no, okay. Okay. So I’m in– I’m about to tell her, I’m like, mid-sentence, like, “I’m sorry, do you want me to go call another store, do you need me to, like, write you a raincheck just in case we we get any more.” And she’s like, “This is wrong, I want them taken down.” She interrupts me, says that, and I’m like, (pause). I like, look around, and I’m like, is she talking to me? Is this, like, my own, like, personal hell? But like, of course it is. So, um, I’m like, “I can’t take these Santas down.” And she’s like, “Why not?!” And I’m like, “You either have to buy them, or take them down yourself.” And that was like, the stupidest thing I could have ever said, because– (sighs) she takes this bag, with like, Jesus’s face, like, slammed right in the middle as a design– it’s big– she takes it off her shoulder, and starts beating these black Santas! She starts beating these Santas down, they were like, falling down… and I’m like, oh my god! What– what is happening? So like, I step in the middle of her and these Santas and I’m like, “Ma’am, ma’am, you need to leave, you need to stop, or I’m going to have to call someone.” So she like, stops, and she’s like, beet red, and like, huffin’ and puffin’, and she like, looks at me and I can tell she’s just trying to get like, a one-liner in, and she’s like, “The Santa I know is white.” And then she walks away. And I’m like, well– I’m processing what’s happening, while also thinking, like, the Santa you know? Santa’s not real. So unless you’re using an ouija board to contact good old Kris Kringle, um, from like, B.C. or whenever, I’m like, that’s pretty impressive, but how ya doin’ that. And, um, I– the last thought that ran through my mind is that, I’m like, I would hate to be in the room with her when she finds out that Jesus is not white.”
i keep trying to memorize every detail of the moments i live in. in the soreness of my legs from standing so long at a concert, the chill of the night, the patterns of a tablecloth, the oily texture in my mouth after eating fried bananas. i keep trying to memorize the feelings, the quiet contentedness, the laughter, the excitement. i keep trying to memorize the people, their smiles, the way they speak, what makes them laugh. i’m constantly on the cusp of the next part of my life and that’s just so.. strange. but it makes it so much easier to find happiness no matter what’s happening to me, in a way? because i’m already kind of looking at life with those rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, simply because i know these are times i’ll never be able to live again, and these are people i might not always have, and that makes it so much easier to appreciate everything i might miss later.
me for 3 years straight: “sorry i haven’t been myself lately”
Every day is steeped in stress
Fitful sleep like slabs of concrete, ensconced or entombed i can never decide.
The air is stale and unforgiving,
I feel each breath slip away like sand between my wood carved knuckles.
We're moving inextricably
Thank god we don't want a roommate, don't need a roommate. I've been through this before. The over worked, too tired to clean "roommate" using all of our things (shampoo, detergent, cooking materials). I don't blame her completely, but i'm not happy with her either. I do look forward to the day she leaves, less than a week.
I have no one to vent to on this count, we offered her this place and honey doesn't care about clean-leaving me 1 out of 3 cleaning up after 3. Its lonely, being too nice to speak up, but not lazy enough to ignore the mess.
Life is overhwhelming and she is no help, nor do i see her making even mildly logocal decisions.
Excuse this rant, it was burning in my chest after this cleaning.
I am a cup overflowing
In love with every breath i take
“Each of us is born brilliant. Then we spend the rest of our lives having our brilliance buried by people, circumstances, and experiences. Eventually, we forget that we ever had genius and special talents, and our brilliance is locked away in a vault deep within. So we settle for who we are, instead of striving for who we were meant to be.”
— Simon T. Bailey
April Fool’s pranks written by neural network
On April 1, people play pranks on one another, and a well-designed hilarious-but-harmless prank is a true work of art. There are lists of pranks online for inspiration, but there are only so many of these, and what do you do if your target has already read the same lists?
I train algorithms called neural networks to write humor - usually inadvertent, as they try to name paint colors or invent pies or design candy heart messages. Once I tried to train a neural network to tell knock-knock jokes, to mixed success.
I wanted to find out if I could get a neural network to invent new April Fool’s pranks. I collected pranks from internet lists until I got tired of it - but because each list only had a few, I gave up after I had collected only 132 entries. This is a pitifully small dataset, especially for sentences. I set up a special-purpose neural net for this, with lots of smarts but a very short memory. As I hoped, it learned individual words and phrasing from the dataset, but rearranged them into new combinations.
The result: pranks that they will never expect, and will never understand.
Place a pair of pants and shoes in your ice dispenser.
Put marbles in the refrigerator.
A meat and mashed potato sundae makes for quite the hand soap dispenser.
Put a glow stick in a toilet paper into the toe of your kid’s shoes.
Conference call two people then, when, when your kid asks what it is, say “Dinner.”
Try using old clothes to pee.
Glue all the eggs in the hubcaps of someone’s computer.
Put marbles in the hand soap dispenser.
Put food coloring in the mailbox.
Take the door knob off your kid’s shoes.
Hide an alarm clock in someone’s keyboard who isn’t a very good typist.
Hide all of the entrance to your office building if it only has one entrance.
Putting googly eyes on someone’s computer mouse so that it won’t work.
If you rip up a toilet paper roll, then leave them a ransom note.
Serve up a glass of juice in the fridge!
Place a pair of pants and shoes in Easter egg foils.
Rearrange somebody while pretending to pee.
Fill in this form, and I’ll email you more rejected April Fool’s pranks that make even less sense.
“Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear that the two of you, on some level, belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as sometimes entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another. or you’re in love, or you’re partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the stangest of circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.”
— Perfect Pair / Life
siren symphony
Heavily inspired by Arctic Monkeys because their new album was 11/10
“Remind yourself why it is you wanted to write in the first place. That might be done by revisiting work by others you find awakening and electrifying, or find disturbing in useful ways, the way disturbed soil can become receptive ground for new seeds. It might be done by going back to your own earlier work and voice.”
—Jane Hirshfield, in “Reconnecting After a Silence” in the January/February issue of Poets & Writers Magazine (2018)
i am glorifying my own survival. keeping a journal of the miracles of small victories, praising myself for waking up, for brushing my teeth, for eating breakfast, for showering. i make up romantic notions about myself instead of picking at the loose seams. i write love poems to the person i know i can be.
some days i am painting gold on rot. some days i know i smell of death under the sugar perfume. some days i flicker between a drowning and a circus. but some days, some days. i catch myself in the mirror and i think: i’m so glad we lived to grow up.
im killing myself tonight. felt like telling someone, but i dont have anyone someones of my own.
please don’t. tomorrow we might meet a horizon we have never known. in six months might be the best night of your life.
six years ago, i used to picture a silver tie around my neck, and a closet door, and my throat caving in. i used to promise myself: tonight, tonight, the bite of forever, a silver knife. nobody would miss me, or else they’d get over it.
i forgot about me.
i forgot about the tattoos i wanted or the piercings. i forgot about the classes i wanted to take and the places i wanted to visit and the songs i wanted to sing and the people i wanted to meet. i thought about the albums i havent heard (hozier, are you with me?) and the memories i hadn’t made, unchecked on my bucket list. no skinny dip, no singing in public. no learning guitar. no books, no puzzles, no nothing. no last episode of that tv show.
it took me six years. not months, not the passing of the moments. but in six months, i’m happy in a way that i felt impossible. i remember sitting on the floor thinking: there’s no undoing what has been done. we are coming apart, us, the one. and when i died, it would make no impression. a satisfaction, in the end, the ending. the only mark i could make, the secret ending.
but in six years, i remade friends. i found my best friend. i caught my family so tight that i remembered them. i found family where family wouldn’t make itself.
what if the next poem i write is the one that saves your life. what if in a few years you hear an album that tells you where you’re going.
please don’t die. there’s so much worth living.
Eighteen.
And I think about my mother and our kitchen in my grandparents house with the two orange lights that flickered on and off and on and off and I wonder if they were a metaphor for the bad habit of love I learned, that the foreshadowing here was that when you get accustomed to a dimly lit love, a dimly lit room, you forget about what its like to be kissed by the sun, to be loved so fully. It’s only when you walk away, when you sell the house, when the sun comes up in the morning, that you realize you deserve the light. You deserve it all. This kiss and this radiance. I wish I could have held myself a long time ago.
