
⣠Chile in a Photography ā£
$LAYYYTER
Peter Solarz
hello vonnie

Kiana Khansmith
Misplaced Lens Cap

tannertan36

shark vs the universe
styofa doing anything

Love Begins
Monterey Bay Aquarium
tumblr dot com
One Nice Bug Per Day

Discoholic šŖ©
Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.
occasionally subtle

oozey mess

AnasAbdin
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@littlerook

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āāThe Fallenāā
Iāve made my final decision and chose yellow. Most people preferred the pink flowers and I liked that contrast also, but the shape of the yellow felt more right to me as it fits the theme of āāfalling star/angelāā more.Ā
I think yellow is nice to see in real life, but in photographs not so muchā¦So I made the yellow more orangeā¦I am pleased now :D
Source

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I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.
Virginia Woolf (via wordsnquotes)
Sherilyn Fenn
Kikiās Delivery Service

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John Goodman Siegel Eggs, Boston, 1973 Cibachrome print
fresh*
But then I hold myself back, because I knew Iāll be burned too, once I start a fire that matches you.
ma.c.a // I almost touch the spark (via vomitingwords)

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city apartment: one bed, one bath they told me at the beginning of it all that there wasnāt enough room in their empty vodka bottle for me to squeeze myself into, but I tried anyways. they told me āthe only way youāre getting in there is if you leave something behind.ā so I did, no questions asked. took out the cutting board and played operation with my heart. threw out my teeth so that I couldnāt bite my tongue anymore. drew a bullseye on my back and made darts out of my bones because everyone knows that you know best the ways in which to hurt yourself. and after all of that, the time and the idle conversations, being smaller wasnāt what I expected it to be. what I needed it to be. although to be left on a shelf once my mannerismsĀ became familiar, left to grow dusty and immobile, isnāt what I was expecting either. this is not a metaphor for anything. sometimes it just hurts. mansion: spacious, new, never been lived in so, I thought that this time was going to be different. nobody would be packed into a space so tight that their limbs would become permanently fused together, ears pressed to knees for longer than the average shower. but what I didnāt think about was how easy it is to get lost when you only have one head and two cold feet and a compass that seems to think ānorthā is synonymous with āthe last room you cried in.ā so we played hansel and gretel, leaving bread crumbs on the bedroom floor to mark the places where we shattered and clumsily reassembled ourselves before the lights turned on. it wasnāt until a game of hide and seek that I found the door Iād entered through, somehow larger and more daunting than before. struck by the realization that the person I am now wouldnāt have bothered knocking, I left. I donāt know if anybody ever stopped looking for me, but Iād assume that they did. body: functional, heart is so big itās become taxing for residents for eight months I burrowed, solitary, into my skin and tried to remember what my mother smelled like before I learned how to say goodbye to her. I let the bruises on my legs fade away, watching the colors as they disappeared like paint down the drain. I was shocked by the amount of vacant rooms in my chest but vacancy isnāt a permanent state of being so itās likely that somebody loved this wallpaper at some point. there were cobwebs near my corneas and broken lamps in my thighs and I never thought the term āfixer-upperā could be used to describe anything other than buildings until I studied myself in the mirror. here, the raw materials present themselves in their rawness and their durability. here is where I begin to rebuild.
real-estate, by Caitlin Conlon (via cgcpoems)
All I ever asked for was to be remembered constantly by everything I ever touched.
Don McKay, from āLift,ā Angular Unconformity: Collected Poems 1970-2014 (Icehouse Poetry, 2014)