they should’ve let david lynch direct an episode of seinfeld. for fun

My name was Mitya Ivanovich of Ryazan. I was nine winters old when I died. In 1353 winter came early. The boyars took our grain, the wolves took our goats, and hunger took our minds. One night, I was sent to fetch water from the well. I leaned too far and saw my reflection tremble. Then the rope snapped. The well was bottomless, or so they said. They found my boots days later, frozen solid and standing upright like a man still waiting for spring. If you read this far, it’s too late to pretend you didn’t. You have until the next cockcrow to send this message to 10 villagers or one tax collector. A boyar’s son once received this message carved on birch bark. He laughed, said peasants have no ghosts, and burned it in his hearth. That night, his estate flooded with boiling kvass. A widow in Novgorod copied this tale and sent it to 12 others. The next morning, her cow gave birth to triplets. All healthy. She named them Mitya, Mitya, and Mitya. I still look over their bloodline. Send this to 10 people if you don't want to end up like the boyar's son. Your time starts now

one day, i hope to be moved from your downloads folder into somewhere more deliberate

the girl one fucks the boy one

Mary oliver & fiona apple are like my patron saints they sit on my shoulders & tell me STOP PLAYING IT SAFE LET YOURSELF BE MOVED BY THE WORLD AROUND YOU

it probably feels good as hell to sexually climax from genital stimulation

we’ll see who’s laughing about outdated tumblr prose in 2029 when the average micro-influencer genre novel opens with like “first of;all i am not doing well And i might go away soon”

college radio, Flickr, and Tumblr the last bastions left in the world wide web