#how bizzare

[brbgensokyo]

this is the second time ive heard nonoka ai utter this exact line

[thesesoutherntrees]

weird blood spatter across my mirror which im 90% isn't mine because i have no open wounds and if it was from my nose i would've woken up with it crusted in blood and i also didn't black out last night. Hm

[noga-pupa-twarz]

it has been weird enough before but now that i am reading wuthering heights, everything i learn about the new movie makes even less sense

[darling-imobsessed]

Oh to be a chicken...

[lemonlinelights]

@tea-and-vodka I just realized I don’t follow you?! I thought I did! Well , I do now!

[perohlinfiles]

Did anyone know about this? Interview with the ex girlfriend of Euronymous.

[godteri-takk]

I was in Oslo today.

And I saw this rather round bench. "Woah, how weird," I thought. And then I saw this:

A bench shaped like the infinity symbol. How bizarre, how bizarre! 🎶

And then I lost my shit at this fucker:

( ͡ಠ _> ͡ಠ)

[pistachioddiana]

D E L I R I U M

We have been walking for hours now

Or days may be, or years, even centuries.

The tick-tocks of time here are gagged

The sun burns too hot in itself, and then

Obliterates like a burnt out poodle of camphor

When the darker of the two sisters conquers

Chucking the other down into catatonia.

We trudge past the driblets of aquarelle-lives

Like two wayfarers midst a stage of vaudevilles in fast forward

They laugh, they cry, and love, and kill

Interspersed, coinciding

We hold our arms out to touch, to feel

To dip our fingers in their rippling bodies

But slowly they zoom out, flickering relics of fata-morgana.

We've become two ghosts of each other's graveyards

We leave a trail of black sand behind us

I face you, and track the river on your vellum-chest

You cast your eyes down to search the route on the atlas of my belly

There. I can see its hump full of twinkling lights and vegetation

While the river huffs out a blob of spit through its big-lipped snout

It turns its long curved neck around towards its own back once,

Perhaps to peek at its depot of cellulite citadel

And plods about its course of journey downhill.

The Summer's gone, the Autumn's gone

The Winter's to come

But the charioteer ebbs away into a cosmic glitch

And gets buried under the ever-growing piles of silica.

We have been walking for hours now

Or days may be, or years, even centuries

And we stencil our aged lignin with tooth-chisels of History.

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