an oldie by Noah Kalina

Janaina Medeiros
Claire Keane
Cosmic Funnies

Origami Around

Love Begins

Discoholic 🪩
Sweet Seals For You, Always

@theartofmadeline
todays bird
DEAR READER
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open


ellievsbear
RMH
Keni
Today's Document
Mike Driver
Monterey Bay Aquarium
taylor price
trying on a metaphor

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@jendunlap-blog
an oldie by Noah Kalina

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Badlands 4
By Jen Dunlap 2015
Badlands 3
by Jen Dunlap 2015
Badlands 2
by Jen Dunlap 2015
Badlands 1
by Jen Dunlap 2015

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yep
love <3 love
still some of  my favorite paintings, almost 10 years old!Â
(via Yeep! Yeep! 2006 - Jen Dunlap)
Flowers Animated GIF
Mike Nichols
One of the greatest honors of my career thus far has been working with the legendary Mike Nichols under his Direction on Death of a Salesman in 2012. He was a crucible who made everyone's skills sharper and vision deeper by accepting nothing less than perfection. He knew you had that perfection in you, and knew how to get it out of you, all while making you feel 100% a part of his magical process.
I'm sure there are thousands of stories like this from anyone who has ever worked with Mike, but the fondest memory I have about him occurred on Valentine's Day during Tech rehearsals for the play. I walked into the stage door entrance to the Ethel Barrymore theater, and there were about 25 giant bouquets of gorgeous, fragrant multicolored gradating roses. He had ordered them for every female cast and crew member working on the play. I walked up to them and found the one with my name on it, and picked up a card named "Jen." I opened it to find a note on Mike's personal stationary, on which he had crossed out his last name (a classic way to show the note is more personal or informal): "Jen, Will you be my Valentine? You are the only one.  Mike".
What a delight of a human. His razor sharp wit, charming humor, and vast understanding of human behavior made him a terrifying delight to be around. I am thrilled and thankful I was able to spend even the tiniest bit of time with him.
Mike, you will be sorely missed.
Jen DunlapÂ

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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via http://ohstarstuff.tumblr.com/post/77285240168/via-imaginary-foundation
THE DAILY FACE book is out today! BUY IT for yourself and everyone you know!
YES! CONGRATS!!!!!!
there is always that space there just before they get to us that space that fine relaxer the breather while say flopping on a bed thinking of nothing or say pouring a glass of water from the spigot while entranced by nothing
that gentle pure space
it’s worth
centuries of existence
say
just to scratch your neck while looking out the window at a bare branch
that space there before they get to us ensures that when they do they won’t get it all
ever.
(c) Charles Bukowski via
Poor, Unfortunate Souls
'making of the band' by Youngna Park
2006, near the Domino Sugar Factory when Kent ave was a 2 way street.Â

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Aubade BY PHILIP LARKIN I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what’s really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Making all thought impossible but how And where and when I shall myself die. Arid interrogation: yet the dread Of dying, and being dead, Flashes afresh to hold and horrify. The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse —The good not done, the love not given, time Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because An only life can take so long to climb Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never; But at the total emptiness for ever, The sure extinction that we travel to And shall be lost in always. Not to be here, Not to be anywhere, And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true. This is a special way of being afraid No trick dispels. Religion used to try, That vast moth-eaten musical brocade Created to pretend we never die, And specious stuff that says No rational being Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound, No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with, Nothing to love or link with, The anaesthetic from which none come round. And so it stays just on the edge of vision, A small unfocused blur, a standing chill That slows each impulse down to indecision. Most things may never happen: this one will, And realisation of it rages out In furnace-fear when we are caught without People or drink. Courage is no good: It means not scaring others. Being brave Lets no one off the grave. Death is no different whined at than withstood. Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape. It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know, Have always known, know that we can’t escape, Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go. Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring Intricate rented world begins to rouse. The sky is white as clay, with no sun. Work has to be done. Postmen like doctors go from house to house.
Aubade by Philip Larkin.Â
A good one for a dark rainy night, in a cottage alone in the middle of a thunderous wood.
Made y'all something.