For Kafka.
A: drawing B: writing C: journaling D: digital art E: art F: religion G: futurism
Sade Olutola
Game of Thrones Daily
Peter Solarz
One Nice Bug Per Day
$LAYYYTER

@theartofmadeline
Stranger Things
h
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Origami Around
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
occasionally subtle

Kaledo Art

pixel skylines

tannertan36

ellievsbear
art blog(derogatory)
wallacepolsom
seen from France

seen from South Korea

seen from India

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from France

seen from Indonesia
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
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seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Belgium
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seen from United States

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seen from Malaysia
@bcrispin
For Kafka.
A: drawing B: writing C: journaling D: digital art E: art F: religion G: futurism

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.
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New poetry book from my biggest inspiration, my dad.
Jeremy Bernier, a software engineer who just moved to San Francisco, joins 'FOX & Friends First' to discuss the city's condition and what th
Proud of my brother for this interview
5.2 The Jaws of the Sea
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I before E, except after C; or when used as an A, as in trei; but not when used as an E, as in Annie.
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A young girl floating on the back of a whale carcass gazes at the starlight. You see flashes of lightning illuminate dark clouds in the distance but hear nothing. I trace the lines and call it Gods at War. Dozens of glowing tentacles rise from the water reflected in her starving brown eyes. They lift the whale over a vortex forming above widening rows of teeth and suddenly the monster rises from the sea like Jesus rising from the words of the Bible, pale and covered in ink. It tears the whale to pieces dropping the girl into its unhinged jaws.

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.
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Confluent Cloud is now 10x faster than Apache Kafka. Read our latency benchmarking results, the innovations behind-the-scenes, and the lesso
Proud to have contributed to this.
5.1 A Line Meant
cc(m/E)

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We are the sacrifice for a future we will never touch but could always see until we could no longer hear the animal caged inside us coughing up dying breaths of crimson entangled in visions offered to the next generation arousing into an epiphany; blind, deaf, and dumb, I still breathe again, clear the conscience, clean the slate, and condense into clay to be stored, molded, and cast in fire drawn from a match that struck a stone that lit all that beauty and all that is beautiful to all that see and blind I still see. You fall past bodies torn apart and stitched together into arrangements hanging from tissue lining viscera alongside pale skinned wide eyed nymphomaniacs in cages waiting to be desecrated and have their gaping splendor captured and cast in stone for later generations to admire for eternity; fall past angels encased in sculptures written into scriptures that lift with the rising tide crashing into sentience flooding the subconscious paralyzing and suffocating all of us unable to swim still but bowed down forever fixed towards the lifting eyebrow. Up, down, and in reverse gravity strong enough to collide heaven and hell coincides to wake us in bed confused and condemned to a future I failed to anticipate and still have no intuition on except I am alone and receding from what I once loved, admired, or saw something special in.
I become 1 and divide into trie, a sun and sea, a holy trinity, a particle wave duality. Nothing is never complete, no number is greater or less than another, something is always lost in the compression and translation.
All fallen angels rise, unsheathe the past and watch your future self watch you watch those around you pull you to the surface. Let light flood the tunnel and bring into perfect clarity who we should be, collapsed on the floor foaming at the mouth while carpet fibers scratching our bare skin overload our senses until we can no longer remember who we are or how we grew into these shells holding all our mistakes, weakness, arrogance, and fear; waking with tears in our eyes from a dream before facing another day of work revisiting all the avenues that could have led us to a life not surrounded by soul stealing machines full of self-destructive shame, hate, desire, love, happiness, and no regrets.
Every decision and indecision haunts me. Every letter is like a seed I've cast into a subterranean river. What swims beneath the murk? How deep can the spirits hunting me down see? I know there is a mix of characters to make sense of this senselessness, provide repentance and atonement, and right wrong.
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There is horeifying beauty in the eye of the beholder, and the rising tide lifts all ships, to be swallowed into the jaws of the sea.
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edit:
Moses split the sea and out came jJews

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God fucking Jesus H I C