we have lingered in the chambers of the sea

arielle, copenhagen/st augustine small lion-hearted girl in a city of lost light. i love travelling & birdbones & carnival lights & the city of prague, houses with a warm inner glow. this is the story of a girl who loves wolves, of neurons arcing, of...

[wordsnquotes]

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape—the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.

Andrew Wyeth (via wordsnquotes)

[nehmesis]

The circus arrives without warning.

[winterfel-blog]

[thebootydiaries]

[anachronisticfairytales]

bluefooted

[antigonick]

And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death cannot touch.

Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch (via ahneboleyn)

[foggydevils]

just you wait. papa koschei is coming, coming, coming, over the hills on his red horse and he’s got bells on his boots and a ring in his poket and he knows your name, m a r y a  mo r e v n a.

[clothsofgoldd]

[aggrokawaii]

forest puppy

[stargonaut]

me, october 27, 2015: time to start planning my nanowrimo!!!

[shinji--moon-deactivated2017123]

Seaside, and the fragment of one running— calves, ribs, green eyes into water. There he goes. Waves. Buoying up as into sky. And the seagulls fly, seeing it as relief, a story. Once they were there, two on a white blanket. The circumference of a shadow. Sunlight around that shadow. The relation of two: bathers, robed figures configured as one. And she touches him—tender—and it is done. (I’ve gone back to it. I’ve, I've— it’s not where I am. I give it away again.) You’re there. It’s still in the sand. It’s trying to chisel it in. How it comes forth: the story. Wanting it, carving it down to vision. Architecture, a coliseum of bent light, the beautiful scatter of broken stones. (And I can turn it into stones.) Love, love: a portico, a labyrinth. And his simple aquatics, legs and arms in the brackish, etched against white fish. The song, under there, of how he’ll leave, and naturally, like all living things: animals, summer, daylight for the eves. And the buildings, all shadows and beings: block, angels, curves. With the love, memory of all loves. The pediments, these reliquaries. It’s our landscape, artifact—it might hurt. (Run to, run away from it.)

“The Reliquaries,” Valerie Martínez  (via letters-to-nobody)

[musterniillustrates]

-

shitty horoscopes book ix: the body and the wreckage.

each sign rules a body part, though which part will vary depending on who you’re talking to. this volume marks a year to the inception of the shitty horoscopes series.

amrit brar (musterni), 2015

buy the zines | read them all | instagram | redbubble

[1los]

[10knotes]

omfg that is just too adorable

[stargonaut]

how to flirt with the signs

aries: fight them. just fucking do it.

taurus: accidentally break their room window with a rock and shout sorry before getting the hell out of there

gemini: call them at 3am and ask if they have any cheetos

cancer: stand outside their house with a boombox blaring "never gonna give you up"

leo: offer them a ride and yell "GET IN THE CAR LOSER WE'RE GOING SHOPPING" as you pull up in front of them

virgo: one word: memes

libra: don't even ask them out just tell them you're dating

scorpio: convince them you're batman

sagittarius: look them straight in the eye as you consume an entire pizza slice in one bite

capricorn: dance at them like one of those tropical birds with the fancy butt feathers

aquarius: tell them about homestuck

pisces: run up to them and say "can u hold onto this for me k thx" then hand them a flower and trip over a snail as you attempt to run off

[gifsboom]

[pandabomb]

florida is a godless place. I went there once, got in the ocean, and immediately had to evacuate because a bull shark was swimming right towards me. there was an alligator on the side of the freeway. meth addicts and men on tractors roam free. florida is america’s australia

[soracities]

(holy alone) holy (alone holy) alone

E.E. Cummings, from ‘[brIght]’ (via soracities)

[blacberries]

abt me: glowing, eating peaches drinking wine in lingerie, not texting ur desperate ass back