Doom Poster by Jesper Andersen
https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Wb08G
taylor price
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
KIROKAZE
Cosmic Funnies
RMH
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

roma★


祝日 / Permanent Vacation
will byers stan first human second
hello vonnie
h
Game of Thrones Daily

titsay
todays bird

Love Begins

⁂

JBB: An Artblog!

if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
seen from United States

seen from South Korea
seen from Chile
seen from Brazil

seen from Australia
seen from Bulgaria

seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Jordan
seen from Brazil

seen from Singapore

seen from Italy
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from South Korea
seen from Australia

seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
@afictionalwork
Doom Poster by Jesper Andersen
https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Wb08G

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Intro to a choose your own adventure (a small random WIP)
As you travel beyond and through the dense thorny bushes, you notice the scraping of your sinewy legs with the thorns of new growth- you are feeding the dense forest floor with your blood. What old things were buried here? Your heavy, booted, feet stomp along the withered roots. The mist hangs low although it is high noon- you can smell the iron in the air. Is this the time for travel? Or does the looming stench of radiation, burning hair and feverish skin, keep you here at the crossroads?
[ CHECK MAP FOR NEARBY CAMPS ]
[ PUSH ON WESTWARD ]
[ SET PACK DOWN, REST WHERE YOU ARE ]
[ Can you smell me ? Sense me? ]
A drag from knives on plates raise my hairs on end, feline flight or fight. Density settles like settiment. Internal concrete churns, like butter for toast. My food is burnt. With a thick and sad sound, leftovers thump to the bottom of the trashcan. Swallowed in a blue light, organic sounds of emails flood my inbox and the hollow filling of my lungs occupy me as the minutes pass. 11:29. A couple more minutes. Hours? My time is measured by the swells of hunger, grit of plaque on my back teeth. Hip bones press against my inner thighs, how odd my stance is. Hunched over spindled legs and open books- notebooks thrown open with half loved pages. A coffee spill on one or two.
[ The microwave is beeping, softly. So absorbed in shapes with no diameter, symbols with origins from the depths of watery tea leaves. You ended up unplugging it. This is the last time its mechanical bird song will cry to an empty room. ]
I'm trying to state myself clearly. To whom? Old friends in monolog, to a board of learned little boys- to eye me like grass fed steak? There were people before me. Like there will be after me. Aching joints almost flood my ears with noise, I lurch even farther upstairs to the cave I've made. 10 to 12 thousand different protein molecules aid me, aid me to tuck my hands under a heavy torso. Eras of evolutions, of model made DNA. Leaves me twisted like the helix on a carpet of synthetic comfort. Bent. Crooked fetus, mangled child, stunted adult. Cracking my bones in a melodious lullaby as I stumble into a soundless room to wander into another life.
[ This won't be the only time, nor is it the first. Get used to the rough hands of life on your naked body, hard and sturdy for your spine. ]
It's too early to open my eyes. Too late. You find it impossible to move now. The red sweet warmths of my mothers womb show themselves as the cover of my eyes, a heavy blackout curtain. Motes of dust in the air settle down on my cheeks, rising up from the deep shelter of sleep. In this hovering moment- there is someone standing over me. As quickly as I feel the breath on my cheeks, we exhale in a flow of air and my eyes flutter open to a beige wall and the corner where the imprint of my body stains the carpet. There is a wet and sick feeling in my stomach. Coiled. Black. I want it to slide out of me like a limp snake.
[Can you imagine living with the sun? You’d spend all day staring at the floor, wishing for something. Your mind will never learn how to breathe. ]
My phone hasn't shook the palm of my hand for a couple months. I remember the way I throttled its small body, threw it across the room whenever its gentle ring would echo. Poor hands reaching out, and now it's gone silent. I don't miss it. Not one bit. Moving to the bathroom like a sailor in vertigo, I hunch my sack of a body over the sink. My ribcage hovers on the ledge, bearing my weight. I heard on the radio recently that it is now officially the winter of our discontent. Is this what they meant? Curled up as the wind is pushed out of me, cold. I'm so tired of this. I know I'll stay here for a while, with a dark green mark along me- bruised and beautiful. The cuts on my fingers throb. Is this healing, or some bloody message to the things that feel out of my world?
[This type of tired never ends, hold on to it. It means your alive. ]
L’Amour fuyant Psiché - 1897 - René Lelong

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Primera Comunión.
Collage sobre fotografías, 2020.
Shrogenders cat (!! TW !!)
(Unknown date) It's 1:02, and I haven't eaten yet. I'd say that's something. I have so much work to do but all I want to do is sleep today. It's a sleeping type of day, a sleeping month. There's a dent in the left side of my bed, a cocoon of sorts. I should flip my mattress- but it's a comforting type of shape. Washing my face in the blue light of an empty document, it envelops me in apathy. I can barely keep my eyes open, but my hunger will keep me sharp today. I want to go home. To my bed and my room, to some burning blue light- unproductive layers of “relaxation”. I don't want to deal with people today, in the sense that if anyone here has a problem I can't fix with an “Im sorry” or a “I'm here for you” then I cannot care. I am too tired for you disjointed complaints. I know you're tired-so am I. Do something about it. I have filled myself up with sadness and cheap orange soda, but I don't think you noticed. That's okay for today, the middle of the week deserves a slip of the eyes and tongue. I wore my pajamas to school, for a friend thing. So we all match (only a third of us did it). I look wrong in them, as always. My hair looks bad today too. It almost makes me mad at the fact I have to look the way I do. People can see me? They see *this*, the way I am? Regardless of that, at least I'm self aware. I walk the line between home as a safehaven and school as one, I'm safe at school but often I don't want to be. The irony is astounding. I have a box full of letters and comforting things to help me at home- memories of why I should be strong. The box is less than an arm's reach away from a box of razors and childrens bandaids. I don't want to think of my room as some sort of Shrogenders cat, but in the end I’m okay with paradoxical comfort.
wilt
A collapsible elder flower
grows on the sideways sidewalks
of my prefrontal cortex
a sleep deprived gesture
smooths out river rocks for me to throw
I don’t think the current can reach you from here
it waters unknown flora
dawn over me
i’m a dead creature
you saw on I90

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming