DEAR READER
Not today Justin

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JVL
trying on a metaphor
Sade Olutola
will byers stan first human second
Xuebing Du
Stranger Things
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
wallacepolsom
occasionally subtle

Janaina Medeiros
Misplaced Lens Cap

if i look back, i am lost
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
noise dept.

sheepfilms
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@comicqueen

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patrickjoust | flickr | tumblr | instagram | facebook | prints
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Fujica GW690
Kodak Portra 160
woody guthrie drawing
a scan from a blog of free scans

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Sonja (1928) / Christian Schad
original url http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Ginza/1557/
last modified 2002-05-15 18:13:33
Vintage 80’s Frye Boot Ad
Hot Rocks

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Tove Jansson
‘Family estrangement often remains a taboo in our society’
Katsuji Wakisaka, textile design Sademetsa for Marimekko, 1974. Finnland.
Wakisaka was the first japanese designer who worked for Marimekko in 1968. In the 1980s he returned to Japan to start his own design company Sou Sou.
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i don’t go on here anymore
i’m permanently leaving the bay area for the first time in my life in a week and a half
i’m scared to move in with this person i love so much, am always scared of fucking it up, feel like i always start the fight, feel like i’m fated to turn into my parents hurting each other all the time and sleeping on couches
but i’m not, right? i’ll have my own bathtub. i have plants i water and i don’t drink the way my mom does. and one time, when i was in and out of a fever, matt gave me the socks he was wearing and slept sitting up. he puts the lighter back in my bag because he knows i’ll forget it on the table in the morning. he practices all of the whales and dogs that he draws on my birthday cards before he draws them and he makes little kids laugh in the grocery line
tonight my manager talked about her relationship with her mom and i realized it’s been a year, i know all about this woman and her mom, and i don’t tell anyone what my own mom is. my best friends know because they’ve seen it- i’m so open about the shit i talk but i can’t tell anybody about anything real because it’s too much to crack open
i wanted to write her a letter under the guise of keeping my brothers safe but i think i’m probably just really angry at her and want her to know i found all of those bottles in her room
there are so many letters i want to write for so many of the wrong reasons
lately my home in the bay feels less like a home, more like a guest room, i feel like i’ve completely overstayed my welcome but i grew up here so much and so uncomfortably that i don’t know how to leave the right way, i’ve been hitting all the bumpers on my way out and telling myself it’s tying up loose ends but no, i’m cutting the ends off so they don’t keep splitting
i want to grow easier. i want this part to be over. the people i love still get so sad, the people i love still get so sad 300 miles away or not. how do you keep getting up when you know that? the answer is: because you have to: because your mom still buys horrible glossy page tabloid magazines and sometimes she sings out of tune to the radio in the car and you can hear her idle in the driveway till the song ends: because you have plants to water, you don’t drink the way your mom does, and you love someone that makes little kids laugh in the grocery line; because at some point you have to fucking trust yourself