#out in

[jihyo-x]

I'm soooo fucked you won't have eee

[furiosa-femininst]

☝️☝️☝️

[wyrmfedgrave]

Harris Campaign LEAKS DEVASTATING VIDEO Of Trump

The Felony Rump must think that everyone is as stupid or 'forgetful' as his Cultist Base.

He frankly doesn't care about what he says - until it comes back to bite him in the rump.

Then, tRump always tries to lie his way out of his own shortcomings.

That's his great personal strategy for coping with his grand stupidity.

Enough!

Let's send a clear message.

That we're tired of him & his sleazy dreams!!

End.

[patbertram]

Rambling

It’s raining again, as it has been on and off for the past few days. Usually the rain comes in the evening when it’s barely noticeable, but it started raining this morning just as I set out for a walk, and now it’s pouring. The cloud cover is so heavy that it seems more like twilight rather than barely afternoon.

Can you tell I have nothing to say? I mean, really, what can one say about rain? The…

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[lofihipbot]

lofi hip hop beats to out in to

[drqueenb]

Branchies out

Colors are all over me and like a rainbow, the sister-made choker adornates my neck. We walk down the stall-paved avenue, overlooking the strolling crowd, dark silhouettes handling flashy groceries and counting crumpled notes. Pools of pomegranates, pyramids of mandarines, crates of grapes, hills of rabbis and raddishes, stacks of leeks and mounts of spinach are side by side with boxes of raw olives, piles of honey jars, legos of bread loafs, puzzles of spices and mountains of bed sheets. Once in a while, the shiny skins of the dead fishes send metallic sparkles among the mat colors and textures. Sleek massacre of hundreds of stoned creatures, only a few miles away from their now estranged universe, lethally asphyxiated for our future contentment. As if they tried a last trick to escape, the tunas show off their red branchies, crimson red collars around their plump sharp bodies while we keep mesmerizedly investigating the potential finds of the weekly bazaar.

Huge cabbages have shed their outside leaves to reveal fresh skin. Their sheer size appeal to us in novel ways and I squat besides a few of them, the last human touch to a life-size still life composition: a tilting pole, a bent me, resting green heads under two old black tvs on a small ruined table. The earth is flat and we are leaning under the combined weight of age, wear and cut. Our freshness is inversely proportionate to our date of birth but together we make up the cycle of urban modern sterile creative life. Likewise, the technicolor headpins become part of a necklace, and the copycat socks a new way of stockings in conceptual open shoes. In between, the never old fresh cheese tastes like butter on a sampled piece of sourdough. Always less bags for more items: our backs and hands are now heavy with unassorted prizes, a lively mosaic of sorts.  

I feel the leak in my panty: moist cold kept by the warm air between the tight fabric and the loose pants. Time has gone by while we walked past all the colorful vegetal, animal and biochemical corpses. We found our way to the narrow streets where lights and things and signs compete for attention. A corridor opens up on our left and chaotic racks invite our ever thirsty eye. First failed attempt at deep brown, then succesful find in mute charcoal, old men’s wear which gets a young one sad. I feel the petty cruelty driving me and I welcome it, enjoying the adrenaline rush of the game. To catch the right fish whom I was first too blind to see, I had to kill another one who thought he owned the stage. I walked past him with hidden pride and false apologies. Later on, back on the street, in the dimmed light of dusk, framed by the warm halo from the bookstore slash cafe’s window, we maniacally laughed at the unexpected ploy. Much later, and we have become mushy fries and soda water, buttery rice and creamy spinach, crowded cheap bling, dreamt of baklava, stuffed air in seaboat, heated home and warm slippers, cold stout with raw rap, that is a girls night out in: angled bodies at various levels, all lungs out before a deep sleep.

[thefestivalsuk]

Once Upon a Time in the West returns to Wessex for 2018

Once Upon a Time in the West returns to Wessex for 2018

Back for it’s fifth year, Once Upon a Time In The West Festival (or OUT West) returns to Deepest Wessex for a party of discernible excellence. Nominated for “Best Small Festival” & “Grass Roots Award” at the UK Festival Awards.

Festival organiser Flounder Murray told TheFestivals.UK: “Whilst OUT West is synonymous with a quality line-up, it’s not all about the music. It’s the friendly, party…

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