âYou werenât ignoring me, you just didnât care enough to pay attention, and that hurt a hell of a lot worse.â
â AF Montesino


Discoholic đŞŠ
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă
Three Goblin Art
todays bird
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Andulka
NASA
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Claire Keane

if i look back, i am lost
taylor price
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Janaina Medeiros
đŞź
Cosmic Funnies
Cosimo Galluzzi
ojovivo
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Germany
seen from Germany

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from Romania

seen from United States
seen from United States
@friendlyviking
âYou werenât ignoring me, you just didnât care enough to pay attention, and that hurt a hell of a lot worse.â
â AF Montesino

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
I felt a cleaving in my mind
As if my brain had split
I tried to match it
Seam by seam
But could not make it fit
- Emily Dickinson
Ladiesâ voices give pleasure.
The acting two is easily lead. Leading is not in winter. Here the winter is sunny.
Does that surprise you.
Ladies voices together and then she came in.
Very well good night.
Very well good night Mrs. Cardillac.
Thatâs silver.
You mean the sound.
Yes the sound.
âLadies Voices, Gertrude Stein
Iâve never experienced heart break.
Not like some have.
I have felt the many small fractures of the destruction of childhood innocence, and I have watched my family die, and I have watched as he and I broke each other down.
But I canât imagine what it would be like to lose the love i feel now.
To know that he is out there, somewhere, with other people and moving on with his life. To know that, someday, he may fall in love again.
Will he say the same things to her? Will he tell her that he loves her in the morning and at night and when he kisses her, will it be the same.
How could you live, knowing that the love that you thought would be yours forever is now someone elseâs?
âsn, Whereâs the line between fomo from real love?

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
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
-Funeral Blues, W H Auden
The Burial of the Dead  April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stammâ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the arch-dukeâs, My cousinâs, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.  What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust.            Frisch weht der Wind            Der Heimat zu            Mein Irisch Kind,            Wo weilest du? âYou gave me hyacinths first a year ago; âThey called me the hyacinth girl.â âYet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Oedâ und leer das Meer.  Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days.  Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: âStetson! âYou who were with me in the ships at Mylae! âThat corpse you planted last year in your garden, âHas it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? âOr has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? âOh keep the Dog far hence, thatâs friend to men, âOr with his nails heâll dig it up again! âYou! hypocrite lecteur!âmon semblable,âmon frère!â
--T. S. Elliot, The Wasteland Part 1
as the crow flies
as the crow flies from the wire
so do i
        fly
towards distractions.
to numb myself
from the story my back displays
i am a slave to what is being created on my shoulders.
it is a language i cannot read
no one can read it yet we all understand it.
as the crow flies towards distractions
so do my thoughts momentarily fly from the liability of my femininity.Â
capitalism.jpeg
oh yeah heres the link https://www.thenation.com/article/alex-azar-trumps-hhs-pick-has-already-been-a-disaster-for-people-with-diabetes/
Destroy capitalism.
This is the world everyone who says âsupply and demand regulate the marketâ supports
This is actually a huge deal. My sister is diabetic and as if her life isnât hell already, my family struggle every month to pay for the insulin that she needs in order to NOT DIE. The price of insulin has gone up almost 300% since she was diagnosed 5 years ago at the age of 11. She canât be a normal kid and on top of that, some men in suits think that because they hold the monopoly on insulin production that they can charge whatever they want. And whatâs worse is that almost no one is looking for a cure for diabetes because those same men in suits make money by selling insulin and others make money by producing other diabetic products and even companies like JDRF which claim to support diabetics donât actually support finding a cure because most of their money is from companies that make pumps and shots and other things that diabetics need. So yeah. basically this entire industry pisses me off.
The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky;
W.B. Yeats, from âThe Wild Swans at Cooleâ (via theclassicsreader)

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
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, Please come to the gate immediately. Wellâone pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she Did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knewâhowever poorly usedâ She stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the Following day. I said no, no, weâre fine, youâll get there, just late, Who is picking you up? Letâs call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and Would ride next to herâSouthwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and Found out of course they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering Questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookiesâlittle powdered Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nutsâout of her bagâ And was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, The lovely woman from Laredoâwe were all covered with the same Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolersâ Non-alcoholicâand the two little girls for our flight, one African American, one Mexican Americanâran around serving us all apple juice And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too. And I noticed my new best friendâby now we were holding handsâ Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, This is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gateâonce the crying of confusion stopped âhas seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), âWandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.â I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but thatâs as it should be. (via oliviacirce)
the six rules to breathing
a tearing is occurring the pounding of a hammer the hand unseen and i cannot seem to wrap my mind this long list of letters and sighs of gratitude fully around my mind.
my first instinct the catch of my breath is to bottle the forrest of my thoughts fears into a ship bottle only letting hands stuff and pull and push never letting long branches rusted benches or grass shavings be taken out.
this act does not taste good. itâs sour and curls my tongue casts me into an iron box where my arms grow stiff grow vines grow poison ivy vines grow twisted, merciless, leaves of three 1. the fear of you not being by my side 2. the fear of you losing yourself 3. the fear
but following after steps 1, 2, 3 there lies upon a frozen crisp-leaf ground steps 4, 5, 6 where a shifting mindset is placed and the underlying tones of hope start to warm my veins my blood pumps 4. we both will continue walking forward 5. youâll always find something greater 6. this matters the most
so may my weeks my months start every morning every afternoon every evening with all six steps in essence casting a shadow that feels real feels raw tastes deeply good and moves my bones your bones our bones in a steady rhythm
full of the breezes in trail runs full of the wildflowers on the side of the road full of the gentle hugs full of the undignified laughter in rooms full of the essence of life.
this season of tearing is not a damning of you and the sidewalks you walk upon here but rather this season is a plucking of your roots and the transition of your web-like origins of who you truly are.
itâs you moving amongst new soil new territory new landscape while itâs me moving here where our hands first linked our souls first sighed in that long car drive in the beach-themed living room in the sidewalk in front of your dorm.
iâll be breathing in and out you will too 1. in and out 2. in and out 3. in and out 4. in and out 5. in and out 6. in and out.
beautiful
In the long run, the sharpest weapon of all is a kind and gentle spirit.
Anne Frank (via quotemadness)
Look at how a single candle can both defy and define the darkness.
Anne Frank (b. 12 June 1929)

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
Sylvia Plath
âWhat would it be like to live in a library of melted books.
With sentences streaming over the floor and all the punctuation settled to the bottom as a residue.
It would be confusing. Unforgivable. A great adventure.â
- Anne Carson, from âWildly Constantâ