
PR's Tumblrdome
art blog(derogatory)
Stranger Things
hello vonnie

Janaina Medeiros

No title available

Origami Around

JVL
DEAR READER

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

@theartofmadeline

if i look back, i am lost

Discoholic 🪩
Sweet Seals For You, Always
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Show & Tell

oozey mess

Love Begins
No title available
Game of Thrones Daily
seen from Argentina
seen from Germany
seen from Lithuania

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from India
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Brazil

seen from United Kingdom
@soulmvte
The Vision of Saint Hubert (1890)
— by Franz von Stuck
Robert Blomfield, Coffee Morning, Student Union, University of Edinburgh, 1964
abnormally large trees please lend me some of your centuries worth of wisdom
sorry boss can't come in today i was on my way to work and then a gentle spring breeze kissed my cheek and reminded me it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world
John Keats, from a letter to Charles Brown, featured in The Selected Letters of John Keats
“The Full Moon”, Yerkes Observatory
I am good. I am loved.
in the age of remote work we should all be visiting friends like they did in jane austen times. is it raining? stay overnight, you'll catch a chill. coming for a visit? why not stay for a couple months, until the roads...get better?
l'eclisse (michelangelo antonioni, 1962)
“source?” divine intuition, gut instinct, and cryptic symbolism from my dreams
Simpkin at the Tailor’s Bedside, c.1902 by Helen Beatrix Potter (English, 1866–1943)
Polkowice, Poland ( via )
the world keeps moving all around me. i go outside and watch people buy in abundance, complain about traffic. i watch influencers sell us their latest makeup product, hair product, selfie light, stanley cup, starbucks order. the construct of whiteness has created two worlds. one where bombs fall somewhere far away and people think the greatest inconvenience is a boycott. and another world where we stay up to memorize faces under rubble, hold on to lines of poetry during the 100th day of bombing, and wait wait wait for a different ending to a very old story. i want no part in their world of comforts, in their life of escapism. how can i escape the orphaned child,a US bomb falling on him, signed off by my million luxuries. how can i continue looking people in the eye.