it was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin' purple people eater
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oozey mess

izzy's playlists!
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shark vs the universe

titsay

Andulka

JBB: An Artblog!
trying on a metaphor

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d e v o n
Claire Keane
KIROKAZE
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we're not kids anymore.
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
todays bird

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@suckertown
it was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin' purple people eater
The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
Since he was very young he had known that in certain ways he was unlike anyone else he knew. For a child the consciousness of such difference is very painful, since, having done nothing yet and being incapable of doing anything, he cannot justify it. The reliable and affectionate presence of adults who are also, in their own way, different, is the only reassurance such a child can have; and Shevek had not had it.
Johannah Herr, How to Hide an Empire: War Rugs from America, 2022. Tufted rugs made from acrylic and wool yarn.
"A Letter That Will Never Reach You", Hovhannes Grigoryan (translated by metamorphesque)
the appearance of god is two-fold, Robert Fludd, 1626
Poetry, prose poetry, chapbook, 32 pages, from Bottlecap Features. Sink or Swim is a collection of poems written over the course of a long a
From H. Rose McCoy's chapbook, Sink or Swim: Reflections on an Ending, available from Bottlecap Press!
Alex Dimitrov, “Poem Written in a Cab”, Love and Other Poems
i feel totally normal about this and the scope of my desire is completely average
this is going to have me on my hands and knees dry heaving
what the FUCK man.
andrew wyeth + franz kafka / the castle
“I feel very small. I don't understand. I have so much courage, fire, energy, for many things, yet I get so hurt, so wounded by small things.”
Anaïs Nin, from nearer the moon: the previously unpublished unexpurgated diary,1937-1939
“I have died for the smallest things. Nothing washes off”
Angela Jackson, from "The Love of Travelers," And All These Roads Be Luminous: Poems Selected and New
thinking about anastasia trusova paintings again
CAN ANYONE HEAR ME
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
It's such a mervyn peake dead rat poem morning
One of the poems ever.