
@theartofmadeline
Mike Driver

JBB: An Artblog!
Claire Keane
ojovivo
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

pixel skylines
will byers stan first human second

blake kathryn
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

Kiana Khansmith

#extradirty
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Cosmic Funnies
d e v o n
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
h
macklin celebrini has autism
AnasAbdin
Not today Justin
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@the-dream-deferrer
One incorporeal being said to the other, “I’m not here, too. Make friends?”
Welcome to Night Vale | Street Cleaning Day (via dailynightvale)
If you’re ever lucky enough to find a girl who is a hopeless romantic with a dirty mind, you should hold onto that. Because she’ll be yours at two in the morning and at two in the afternoon the following day. She’ll kiss you where it hurts and until it hurts. And that’s important. Someone who not only knows how to turn you on but also knows how to treat you right is someone worth a little something… and a little more than usual.
(via the-taintedtruth)
(11/07/15)
One day, she’s going to know. She’ll know your birthday, your middle name, where you were born, your star sign, and your parents names. She’ll know how old you were when you learned to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you had, and how much you hated going to school. She’ll know your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and your birth marks. She’ll know your favourite book, movie, candy, food, pair of shoes, colour, and song. She’s going to know why you’re awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you’d lost a good friend. She’s going to know your phobias, your dreams, your fears, your wishes, and your worries. She’s going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. She’ll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. She’s going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. She’ll know your bad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it’s her favourite song. The way you chew, drink, walk, sleep, fidget and kiss. She’s going to know that you’ve already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for the bathroom, bridesmaid dresses, and the colour of your bedroom walls. She’s going to know, get annoyed at and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order a Starbucks, have to organise your DVD’s alphabetically, and check your horoscope… just incase. She’ll know your McDonald’s order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. She’s going to know how you feel without you telling her, that you need a wee from a look on your face, and that you’re crying without shedding tears. She’s going to know all of it. Everything. You, from top to bottom and inside out. From learning, from sharing, from listening, from watching. She’s going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? She is still going to love you.
(via itcuddles)
(11/06/15)
i. the english language is lacking, i seek others that i scrawl in scribbles against your skin. te amo. je t'aime. i love you. ii. i don’t know how to write something raw enough that it feels like you, pressed against me. i don’t know how to push in all of this feeling into letters when i can barely contain it within the sphere of my throat. iii. when you touch me, i come alive with the untranslatable. i am a system of sparks, all exploding against the night sky, all believing themselves to be suns. iv. my mouth is numb with wanting. i test it out on my dull tongue. i don’t know how to say “i love you” with enough inflection that you hear the truth of it, that you understand what i’m saying. i love you. i love you. i love you. v. i hold your hand and stare into your eyes and feel myself spilling over. ti amo. je t'adore. ich liebe dich. how do you say the feeling of a sucker punch, the smell of jasmine tea, the bright presence of a body, the magnetic swing of a person you are caught in - the awareness, always, of how close, of how far, of how full of need you are. vi. we are lying beside each other and making the universe seem benevolent. i find tiny words surfacing on the ocean of my teeth, all too small to be the tsunami inside of me. my hands on you, my heart weak. you were the earthquake that changed the landscape of me. there are mountains trying to escape me. vii. i love you. te amo. i love you. je t'aime. i love you viii. completely.
a poet’s lack in speaking // r.i.d (via inkskinned)
Dream big. Dream looming. Dream a force that is so beyond you in scale that you mistake it for the world.
NightValeRadio (twitter)
“If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I bet they’d live a lot differently. When you look into infinity, you realize there are more important things than what people do all day.”
Calvin and Hobbes (via bl-ossomed)
do you ever look at a boy’s hands and just nod to yourself
The Eiffel Tower’s lights go off in memory of those killed during Paris attacks [13/11/2015]
(11/05/15)
dear november, i am sorry half of you has passed. i’m not good at keeping you close; you and i, we are like two sides of a city divided- both ruined equally, but wishing for more still. its been 4 years, and i’m still trying to gather the pieces, but every gash still hurts in my ribs. do you remember how it hurt; surviving. you are a reminder; unwanted, and i am sorry for having given you this name. i am sorry i can never forget how i couldn’t eat or drink anything for two weeks. i sorry for staining you in my mother’s tears. i’m sorry that this is all you’ll ever be to me. please bring me the strength to be, and not find myself drifting away, yet another day- how do i say that i do not have the luxury anymore. i am empty, yet living, yet wishing, but making nothing of it. i’m rising, and sinking, and hurting yet again. dear november, please end my agony- give me the chills that one stores in their spines, and the hands to hold it up straight. i am not weak, but i am faltering yet again; this difficulty in breathing is killing me, but the earth still spins- even unwillingly, and i am no different. yours, always in grief unfortunately, - s
Discussion 11/13/15
1. Mythology 2. Gorge 3. Is it survivable 4. November evenings 5. What is left
1. he is my persephone and I want to run through hell and bring him back but i don’t want to lose him by looking over my shoulder one too many times
2. a gap, a loss, that empty feeling when they leave and the jump you have to take to find yourself again
3. are you dead?
4. the cold dread of loneliness and wondering when you’ll be able to speak again. you really don’t want to stay alone with your father another night (take me away)
5. just the chain of a necklace delicate pulled by heavy hands and bruise
(11/03/15)