by Brooke DiDonato

★
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

No title available
Cosmic Funnies
Jules of Nature

Product Placement

oozey mess
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Three Goblin Art
h
$LAYYYTER
ojovivo

Kaledo Art

Andulka
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Peter Solarz
taylor price
tumblr dot com
will byers stan first human second
RMH

seen from United States

seen from South Korea
seen from United States

seen from Sweden

seen from United States

seen from India

seen from Singapore
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from France

seen from Israel

seen from United States
seen from Australia

seen from United States
seen from Sri Lanka

seen from United States
@thebanditqueen
by Brooke DiDonato
via weheartit
Lack of Color
A quiet, gothic haven nestled between Pittsburgh's Squirrel Hill and Point Breeze neighborhoods.
Established in Pittsburgh’s Squirrel Hill neighborhood in 1878, these tranquil resting grounds are truly something to behold. It’s not uncommon to see a herd of whitetail deer grazing along the grassy slopes, or a rafter of wild turkeys gobbling amongst themselves between the endless rows of headstones.
Continue reading at Atlas Obscura
F is for Feelings, IG : itsPeteski
VIA WeHeartIt
4:12 AM 6/18/17
are you ok? i promised you i would check in every day and today i haven't heard i almost threw up my tequila sunrise tonight why did i even order that? in my panic over you i sent out a text and received no response from someone else who... fuck. from someone else who. i don't know what's going on i love you and i miss you and i tell you that regularly you live so close i can hear your tv through the door and yet i see your face less than i do the dishes you have to be ok you're alright i know you are i know this is overreacting i know this is my brain in overdrive i don't know if i believe in god but for god's sake i'm praying i'll knock on your door tomorrow and pray you answer pray i wake up to some text telling me i'm a lunatic i am a lunatic but don't fucking do this to me i can't sleep i can't breathe my other friends made me dance tonight and i secretly did because i knew if this worse were true it would be the last time i danced in a while don't scare me like this please for fucking christ's sake, i'm begging you.
For years, my friends and I made a game of watching each other waste away in this desert town, finding ourselves on drugs, or pregnant with babies we didn’t want, or otherwise stuck at dead-end jobs in coffee shops and call centers because work was hard to find and we took what we could get. We joked about how shitty it all was, how shitty we all were. About how much we wanted from life and how little we would actually get. But maybe I shouldn’t include myself in this collective we; I was one of the lucky ones. Had always been. Made it through college on academic scholarship. Was applying to graduate programs. I had a good reason to leave, but we all knew that didn’t mean I actually would. My friends and I, we used to laugh at the futility of trying to escape it over warm beers in one of our sparse, under-watered backyards. People leave, we said, but they always come back.
Ghostly Woman by Zoë Bossiere (via therumpus)
Evansville Press, Indiana, January 14, 1909