I wrote a song and edited together a video for our dearly departed friend, The Barrel. Enjoy.
Okay, y'all. Time to be shamelessly proud of this. I'm going to reblog it.
Sweet Seals For You, Always
trying on a metaphor
NASA
we're not kids anymore.
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One Nice Bug Per Day
d e v o n
Three Goblin Art

titsay
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

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JVL
Jules of Nature
todays bird
sheepfilms
Game of Thrones Daily

Love Begins
Not today Justin
RMH

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

seen from Russia
seen from South Korea
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States

seen from Canada
seen from Nicaragua

seen from Germany

seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from Costa Rica

seen from Singapore
@theatricallunatic
I wrote a song and edited together a video for our dearly departed friend, The Barrel. Enjoy.
Okay, y'all. Time to be shamelessly proud of this. I'm going to reblog it.
It's time for you to start taking the necessary steps to become that version of yourself that you can't stop dreaming about.
But OP what if my optimal self is a fire-breathing dragon that makes its home upon a windswept seaside cliff and spends its days terrorizing the local populace?
Watch an Impromptu Medieval Icelandic Hymn Sung in a Modern Train Station
I ran into this and was watching it again, and wanted to share this, the purest exchange in a YouTube comment thread of all time:
I adore this video so much I actually wrote a real-ass poem about it.
Nights are usually quiet here. In watching the small villages and hamlets of the world, I have found a way to make the solitude a little less oppressive.
There were stars in her eyes, and I could never tell whether they were hers or a reflection of mine. His were always somber and empty, as if the light of his mind had slipped slowly from the leaking corners in the back of his skull where his concerns (and he had many) ate away at the edges of his being. She was an exuberant, wasteful creature. She bubbled like champange as she flited around him. I watched them as they took their nightly walks. She spoke at exhausting length and alarming speed of meaningless things. He said nothing of what he should have mentioned to her.
Tonight she walks alone, I notice, and her eyes are somber and empty.
Nights are usually long here. They settle, inky and slumberous, over the gables of the little houses. In the heavy dark of sleeping towns I find, in abundance, those with things to hide.
The young girl is afraid. I study her snarl as she passes strangers on the streets, I see her terror creep through. She catches the bus and rides for miles, watching hills, which are nothing but great, dark beasts to her, roll by out the window. When she arrives, she immediately finds a restroom, and disappears from my sight for a while. When she emerges, her hair is cropped short, and the color has changed. She catches another bus, and I watch until she passes out of my sight. I wonder what was hunting her, that she must shed her skin at every bus stop and glance too often over her shoulder.
I wonder what she did to make the devil chase her.
Nights are usually unfettered here. In the depths of the dark, dreams can fly. Most dream sleeping, and a few dream awake, sitting in the confines of their bedrooms, staring up at me.
The child is smaller than most his age, and he feels it in the bruises that run along his ribcage. He is in no danger now. We stare at each other for a long while, trying to unravel one other. Pulling back the layers of the moon, it seems, is a little harder than peeling back the layers of a boy. He likes the things that children his age do. He has a model rocket hanging from his ceiling, books on his shelves and clothes on his floor. Yet, I have to wonder what about the eyes of this child makes me stare back. Even as he slips from my fingers into the morning, I do not know.
-Musings of a Waning Crescent Moon on an Autumn Night // The Vagabond Queen
MY NAME, IS FRICKIN MOON MOON. I’D BE THE MOST IDIOTIC WOLF. ‘OH SHIT WHO BROUGHT FUCKING MOON MOON ALONG?’
the post that started it all
oh god
Never not reblogging.
I’ve only seen this post in screenshots
oh my god it is the legendary moon moon post
*whispers* ive only seen screenshots of a screenshot of this post *touches post gently* is this real
fUCK ITS THE REAL THING I FEEL SO HONORED.
*SCREAMS* ITS BACK
I FOUND IT
I have lived a legend this day.
moon moon, the legendary post
ok. listen. the sexual tension between mozart and salieri in amadeus (1984) is unparalleled. the competition. the scene where salieri writes out mozart’s funeral march for him on his deathbed. his obsession with mozart after his death. mozart’s twink energy and laugh. his pink wig. the parties. the jealousy. salieri’s beef with mozart’s wife. mozart’s troubled relationship with his dad. salieri’s childhood troubles with god and his own dad. all i’m saying is amadeus (1984) is gay cinema and you can’t deny it
Tag yourself I’m Mozart’s twink energy
Reblog if you like Phantom of the Opera
i just wanna see how many of us there are
Let people grow.
When I was younger I was very right-wing. I mean…very right-wing. I won’t go into detail, because I’m very deeply ashamed of it, but whatever you’re imagining, it’s probably at least that bad. I’ve taken out a lot of pain on others; I’ve acted in ignorance and waved hate like a flag; I’ve said and did things that hurt a lot of people.
There are artefacts of my past selves online – some of which I’ve locked down and keep around to remind me of my past sins, some of which I’ve scrubbed out, some of which are out of my grasp. If I were ever to become famous, people could find shit on me that would turn your stomach.
But that’s not me anymore. I’ve learned so much in the last ten years. I’ve become more open to seeing things through others’ eyes, and reforged my anger to turn on those who harm others rather than on those who simply want to exist. I’ve learned patience and compassion. I’ve learned how to recognise my privileges and listen to others’ perspectives. I’ve learned to stand up for others, how to hear, how to help, how to correct myself. And I learned some startling shit about myself along the way – with all due irony, some of the things I used to lash out at others for are intrinsic parts of myself.
You wouldn’t know what I am now from what I was then. You wouldn’t know what I was then from what I am now.
It distresses me deeply to think of someone dredging up my dark, awful past and treating me as though that furiously hateful person is still me. It distresses me to see others dredging up the past for anyone who has made efforts to become a better person, out of some sick obsession with proving they’re “problematic.”
Purity culture tells you that once someone says or does something, they can never go back on it. That’s a goddamn lie. While it’s true that some remain unrepentant and never change their ways and continue to harm others, it’s important to allow everyone the chance to learn from their mistakes. Saying something ignorant isn’t murder. Please stop treating it that way. Let people grow.
Still call it out and question it ….
Bruh. No. Listen. Call out what people do now, absolutely. If they haven’t changed, call them out on their record. This post is explicitly not about people who HAVEN’T changed. What this post IS saying is, if someone is making an effort to be a good person, don’t go digging around in their past for evidence that they were once for what they’re now against, or once against what they’re now for, as “proof” of what they “really think,” because people’s opinions and beliefs can change.
The obsession with finding shit in someone’s past and then claiming that a questionable or even sordid past negates all possibility of a good present needs to become extinct. Gold-star activism and purity culture are bullshit and we need to collectively reject the fuck out of them.
If someone has changed for the better, don’t harass them about what they were like before they fuckin’ changed. That’s shitty and it needs to stop.
broadway costume design appreciation → Anastasia (2017)
Tony-nominated design by Linda Cho
Santa Maria della Salute. Venice. Italy
You’re magically transported into the world of the last musical you watched/listened to in the clothes you’re wearing now.
how screwed are you?
Dear Evan Hansen… in my jeans and Pink Floyd shirt and my grey flannel
I’m fine I guess
Ok so Newsies, in my converse, navy blue leggings, dark blue sweater, and dark blue school shirt? I’m pretty damn good
American Psycho in my pajamas. Hm.
heathers – nike shorts, black footie socks, a t-shirt, and a black fleece
Falsetto’s in my blue NASA t-shirt with a grey hoodie, and really big jeans
tuck everlasting in a yellow invader zim shirt and black leggings ,,,
great comet in a t-shirt, Jean shorts and black converse.
I’ll survive. won’t i?
Oof Phantom of the Opera in Nike shorts, socks, and a tie dye t-shirt
I’m not sure.
Newsies in a short floral dress with a bathing suit underneath (you can see the straps) and flip flops,,,lowkey think I’m fucked
Now I’m wearing just my bathing suit. I’m sure I will do great in 1899 New York.
Newsies in black leggings and a black knit sweater… i mean anything that isn’t a dress or trousers would make me screwed so……
25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee in shorts and a musical t shirt. Okay hecc I can’t spell im screwed, the clothes don’t matter
newsies in a tank top and shorts
welp
Newsies, in dark grey jeans, black boots, and a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
MY TIME HAS COME
Les mis... does it really matter what I'm wearing? I'm doomed no matter what.
“We live on a blue planet that circles around a ball of fire next to a moon that moves the seas”
— and you don’t believe in miracles?
spring flowers
From YouTuber Daniele Leonardi: full-length video of the painstakingly period-accurate production of Rameau’s Hippolyte et Aricie directed by Ivan Alexandre at the Palais Garnier for the Opéra national de Paris in 2012 (a revival of a 2009 production from Toulouse). The cast is led by Topi Lehtipuu (Hippolyte), Anne-Catherine Gillet (Aricie), Sarah Connolly (Phèdre), and Stéphane Degout (Thésée). Emmanuelle Haïm conducts the Concert d’Astrée.
Asks for the Gothic Heroine
candelabra - Are you afraid of the dark? If not, what do you fear?
skeleton key - Is there a room that you are not allowed inside?
moorlands - Do you prefer the rain over the sunshine?
the bleeding nun - During childhood, was there a monster under your bed?
pressed flowers - Have you ever fallen in love?
whispers - Tell a secret.
shadowy ruins - If you had to conceal yourself from someone, where would you hide?
cobwebs - Have you ever been lost?
silver dagger - Have you ever had an injury? Of mind or body?
hidden staircase - Have you ever witnessed something you weren’t supposed to?
white chiffon - Do you want to get married? Why or why not?
neglected manuscript - Do you have a favorite novel?
distant shores - If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
armoire in the attic - Have you ever hidden anything away? What and why?
sleeping draught - What was the last dream you had?
peeling wallpaper - Write about a memory.
conspirators - Do you have a confidante?
phantom footsteps - Do you believe in ghosts?
reblog by only using one word to describe what country/state you’re from
crabs
yeehaw
BEARS.
“Allegiance”
Donyale Werle