ffatigue. gouache painting on paper, 2020

Andulka
styofa doing anything
occasionally subtle

No title available

Origami Around

titsay
sheepfilms

⁂
almost home
Sweet Seals For You, Always
YOU ARE THE REASON
todays bird
Misplaced Lens Cap
trying on a metaphor

if i look back, i am lost
dirt enthusiast
Not today Justin

Discoholic 🪩

tannertan36
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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seen from Argentina

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@viciouscrown
ffatigue. gouache painting on paper, 2020
The work of artist Susan Lenz
grave rubbing quilts series
works from top to bottom:
In God's Care
Ready for Burial
Be Ye Also Ready, Beloved
Born an Angel
Weep Not For Me
Endless Life
Greatfully Dead
Here Rests the Body
Graveyard angels
Saint Olga by Milhail Nesterov
Oil on canvas, (1892-1893)
angels with last nights makeup smeared on their eyes, with mouths that can speak in foreign tongues now filled with metaphorical cotton.
angels writing poetry on their iphones, keeping positive thoughts in their notes just for themselves.
angels unsure of their ethics, still learning rights and wrongs, but following their hearts of gold all the same.
angels that have ‘dirty mouths’, that curse every other sentence in between blessings and greetings.
angels that fall in love every single day with the wonders of this world, and angels that fall into despair every now and then for the state of the earth that they try to change.
angels helping out other angels, encouraging them through rough times, filling them up with positivity and light.
angels that jerk awake at night, haunted by night terrors and their past experiences, praying the evil spirits in their heads away.
angels that could rip your throat out with their harsh light but always have a soft and gentle aura, despite their power.
angels that oversleep, dreams filled with strange hallucinations and sometimes visions of their past lives.
angels that don’t sleep at all, instead staying awake and listening to soft tunes, reminiscing on their memories and lives.
Walpurgisnacht by Stefan Eggeler (1922)
Paul Cumbie, Doll House, 1883 | Modeled after the Vanderbilt mansion at 660 Fifth Ave, New York
Hide me inside, under your spine
Fallen Angel by Roberto Ferri.
this is almost certainly a post ive made before but when a character's grief is so strong it fully alters the form of the narrative itself... moby dick being so much longer than strictly necessary because ishmael's grief made him stall for time in the telling of the tragedy... harrow the ninth being in second person because harrow was so grief-stricken that she herself was not capable of making narrative sense of the events of the novel and so someone else had to do it.... do u know what i mean
ok WAIT. SO TRUE
omfg
HELP as the game progresses and more and more people die the display is slowly changing from full color to black and white
i think mccarthyism reached a new level of stupid when fandom bitches started blaming the lack of gay sex in marvel movies on the russians and the chinese
take your carriage very slowly by your rival’s home, that she might see your latest hat
Eat your heart Catherine, you toad-eating hag.
Elizabeth, you must surely be aware that I am unable to view the roads from my apartments due to the vastness of my estate…
Oh, please do forgive my mistake, Catherine, I had only assumed you could see from that ostentatiously high pedestal atop of which you have placed yourself
alexander mcqueen fw 2015
Glasgow, Scotland
photo by benchristian