l'un-a-tic

main @floofcreamchillin header from @atlanticsea's soldier, poet, king quiz

[feral-ballad]

Zehra Naqvi, from The Knot of My Tongue: Poems and Prose; “Dear Baba”

[Text ID: “maybe we are each other’s homes, maybe that is enough. / maybe we hold each other across oceans and speak tenderness in our broken languages.”]

[thecollectibles]

Art by ranxiang

[moosemann404]

//sources: @aridante / Testament - Morri Creech / unknown / @ryebreadgf / @chloeinletters / The Leash - Ada Limón / @kafk-a / Up The Wolves - The Mountain Goats / @podencos / The Child Former Known As _____ - Cameron Awkward-rich//

A little web weave for Learned Unhelpfulness because I felt like it

[2manypdfs]

happy There Will Come Soft Rains by Ray Bradbury day

[toavoidtherush]

summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.

on summer and the nostalgia it brings.

1, zoe lianne - erasure. 2, young friend - arizona. 3, alida nugent - you don't have to like me. 4, chen chen - summer was forever. 5, ashe vernon - popsicles and georgia o'keeffe paintings. 6, anastasia trusova - lighthouse of the northern sunset. 7, taylor swift - seven. 8, adrienne rich - contradictions. 9, james tate - stray animals. 10, bill waterson - calvin and hobbes. 11, tracy k smith - life on mars. 12, alessia di cesare - june, and. 13, hans christian anderson - the snow queen. 14, alex hirsch - gravity falls. 15, the crane wives - arcturus beaming. 16, benjamin alire saenz - aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe. 17, lindsay slatten - how to corner the market on horse cadavers. 18, justine kurland - the lawless energy of teen girls. 19, mary oliver - october. 20, radical face - summer skeletons. 21, laura gilpin - two-headed calf. 22, allison pluda. 23, liesl mueller - sometimes when the light. 24, unknown. 25, keaton st james - july in appalachia. 26, leigh janiak - fear street 1978. 27, bn pressman - stories of my childhood. 28, annalise emerick - twinkling lights. 29, adrii frolov - summer lemon water. 30, terry pratchett - good omens.

[pmamtraveller]

Sunrise (1933), by Maxfield Parrish

[inkskinned]

when i was younger i loved the blade and the hook and the tear of a tendon. for a long time i was feeding myself on pain alone. it felt like a needlepointed symmetry: internal anguish can be expressed in external injury. everything had to be hard and loud and fast and violent. i drove erratically and had rough sex with the wrong people and made terrible friends and let people feed from my bloodstream. the only way i knew how to handle the rot was with violence, to rip it out of me, to put my body down like a sick dog. in some mental quarry of self-hatred i'd try to blunt-force pickaxe out the misery from my brainstem; as if i could drown what was already underwater. i was perpetually disgusted by my own failure to comply. no matter how many bitemarks or burnt bridges or bloodstains or bruises or bad nights; i was still me. i was still hurting.

so who am i, then, to speak about softness. it's been years since i touched a blade like that, but i still wear the scars in the summer. i know i could get in my car and drive off the face of the map but instead i get in my car and i visit my friends. i could kill myself i suppose but how could i ever explain that absence to my dog, and besides - i haven't been to my own wedding yet.

all i know about softness i learned from the bottom of a sharp pit. there's a younger, hungry version of me, a growling tiger still unsated. every gentle thing is still alien to her. she doesn't understand the concept; it is abhorrent. she thinks it's boring. she thinks it's letting go. she snarls: i made a promise. we would rather burn out than go quiet, remember? i made a promise i would rip all the meaning from this life like a peach pit.

this is the meaning, beloved: today there are cherries waiting for me to eat them. i put my hand on warm moss while on the phone with shannon. i made a new matcha recipe today, and it's quite delicious. tomorrow i'm going to get in my car and instead of screaming or crashing it or disappearing, i am going to go visit my cousin.

in my youth i think i wanted to be loved like a bent needle - under the skin, permanent, an emotional scarification. i have been in the middle of broken glass my whole life. i think i replaced the concept of peace with the numb fear at the edge of a knife.

i know now i can only be loved as far as the sound travels, otherwise it's all just echo. i want to be loved like a purring cat, quiet and gentle. although she's still romanceable, i generally steer clear of blue-winged strife. she sits in the dark corners of my room, pouting, and i teach her how to do the laundry and get to work on time.

i open the curtains. i want to let in the light.

[color-palettes]

new growth on the old - Submitted by jellyrainboots

#582A13 #894A28 #C98447 #D6B06A #854052 #2E182C

[whaile]

late summer / early fall thoughts

[color-palettes]

BGM - Submitted by: fastman27

#4E3D70 #5C789E #879FE8 #B7D0F2 #F8E3F2 #B34A76

[thecollectibles]

Art by Jakub Rebelka

[luminote]

Another month. Another season. Another poem.

[ionomycin]

pearl shore

[color-palettes]

I Need to Breathe the Terror Away - Submitted by SeesawSiya

#242738 #604345 #803248 #bb3951 #d9a3b3 #faeee0

[svndvn]

paitings to exercize, Im trying find a brushwork that feels more like mine, always aiming for a very "traditionnal" look, between gouache and watercolors

[thecollectibles]

Let me be a farmer by 李大呆

[biteorflight]

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