#my fly

[circular-circulation]

spending time withmy fly #myfly

[romangoldendream]

fly with me

[willowscrittercorner]

pondering

photo is my own, please do not repost w/our credit (reblogs are fine ofc)

[bearbench-img]

マイフライ

亀井堂のあんこをはさんだ四角い揚げパンは、日本の伝統的な和菓子と洋菓子の融合として人気のあるスイーツです。この揚げパンは、ふわふわのパン生地に、甘さ控えめのつぶあんをたっぷりと挟み、サクサクに揚げたものです。マイフライでは、この亀井堂の揚げパンを全国のユーザーに届けるサービスを提供しています。オンラインで注文を受け付け、新鮮な状態で配送することで、自宅にいながら本場の味を楽しむことができます。マイフライのウェブサイトでは、この商品の特徴や、製造元である亀井堂の歴史やこだわりを紹介し、購入前に詳しい情報を得ることができます。伝統的な和の味わいと、サクサク食感が楽しめるユニークなスイーツとして、幅広い世代に愛されています。

手抜きイラスト集

[deadladyflowers]

[discoveringmyignorance]

At the very least I'm helping the most important I know

[mlle-adablake]

One of those great, garishly emerald flies that always look freshly generated from fresh excrement and who maneuver through our airspace with a deft intentionality that makes them seem to think, materializes just above my desk, then vanishes, his dense, abrasive buzz sucked in after him. I wait, imagine him, hidden somewhere, waiting, too, then think, who knows why, of you— don’t laugh—that he’s a messenger from you, or that you yourself (you’d howl at this), ten years afterwards have let yourself be incarnated as this pestering anti-angel. Now he, or you, abruptly reappears, with a weightless pounce alighting near my hand. I lean down close, and though he has to sense my looming presence, he patiently attends, as though my study of him had become an element of his own observations—maybe it is you! Joy! To be together, even for a time! Yes, tilt your fuselage, turn it towards the light, aim the thousand lenses of your eyes back up at me; how I've missed the layers of your attention, how often been bereft without your gift for sniffing out pretentiousness and moral sham. Why would you come back, though? Was that other radiance not intricate enough to parse? Did you find yourself in some monotonous century hovering down the tidy queue of creatures waiting to experience again the eternally unlikely bliss of being matter and extension? You lift, you land—you’re rushed, I know; the interval in all our terminals is much too short. Now you hurl against the window, skid and jitter on the pane: I open it and step aside and follow for one final moment of felicity your brilliant ardent atom swerving through.

C.K. Williams, My Fly