@tenthhouselilith - Tumblr Blog

I wish to purchase goods and services without entering a blood covenant that entitles the provider to email and text me forever and also store a bunch of my personal data that they’re going to apologize for exposing in a breach in the next five to ten years

kukai

if you want to materially aid palestinians undergoing genocide, please consider donating to the zahrat alhanun mutual aid fund. i personally am in contact with some of the organizers and can attest to the work they do. they're currently low on resources for the palestinian students and families that rely on them. you can learn more about ZAMA here! please share widely!!!!!

pisces-core

‘l'avventura del sipario’’ by angelo quaglio c. 1870

innerchildabortionclinic

the dumbest person alive has come to warn you that fruit has sugar in it

berrytart

must feel good as fuck to be named madeline and live in an old house in paris that was covered with vines

heteroglossia

“My brother used to ask the birds to forgive him; that sounds senseless but it is right; for all is like the ocean, all things flow and touch each other; a disturbance in one place is felt at the other end of the world.”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

website-com

you never know what someone is going through. for instance i didnt know i was going through anything until about 2 years later. i thought i was just chilling

fotojournalismus

Palestinians herd sheep in the Judean desert between Jericho and Jerusalem on February 6, 2015. (Ammar Awad/Reuters)

distantvoices

By Craig McDean for Harper’s Bazaar Italia October 2023

fishcake01

my home for three weeks

dozydawn

WGM Valentina Golubenko, 2011.

rienafoutre

petaltexturedskies

Frankly, I prefer just to lounge under a tree. So why should I think I could ever be successful? Some days I fall asleep, or land in that even better place—half-asleep—where the world, spring, summer, autumn, winter— flies through my mind in its hardy ascent and its uncompromising descent. So I just lie like that, while distance and time reveal their true attitudes: they never heard of me, and never will, or ever need to. Of course I wake up finally thinking, how wonderful to be who I am, made out of earth and water, my own thoughts, my own fingerprints— all that glorious, temporary stuff.

Mary Oliver, from “On Meditating, Sort Of” in Blue Horses: Poems