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@lvnaelna
reblog to give your moot a love letter 💌♡

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The ocean leaves behind pieces of herself 🐚♡
plenty of emotions.
WHO'S INVADING MY INBOX WITH DEFINED SKELETONS

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Margaret River, Surfer's Point, Western Australia
trust that everything will fall into place without you forcing it there.
cthulhu
x x x / x x x / x x x
january 2025 ; 1 2 3 4 my pinterest

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September 12, 2025
Something about traveling to the city at night soothes my soul. I feel at peace, moving from one point to another. The motion and idea of knowing I am not physically stuck though within the temples of my chaotic brain I am rambling and playing scenarios wherein my life wasn’t as messy than it already is, is a type of therapy I can get for myself and honestly, I feel more free. Isolated yet liberating. Grieving (at times) yet unbounded.
Life has a way of keeping me interested on a daily basis. But it’s at night where I can assess through these interests and internalize what actually matters to me. Right now, it’s being healthy and having both parents alive with my wonderful siblings, getting to do things my way, being loved by friends and be surrounded with creativity.
Today has been a blessing. Thank you sunny day, thank you rain.
the cultural object of the black hole is kind of remarkable. It's almost an anti-God in a sense, a negative infinity. Yeah there's this kind of dead sun that's collapsed into an infinitely dense point, and if you fall past its event horizon you're fucked. Every schoolchild knows this. A black hole can be introduced in a superhero blockbuster without any explanation except for its established look and the name "black hole", and this will be understood as the ultimate natural disaster, which even superman could not hope to defeat. truly S-tier cosmic object
If there's any proof we need that our reality is made of math, it's that graph function singularities exist as physical features of our world. Undefined algebraic points exist, we can see them, they float around space touching things and fucking them up beyond all recognition, and they look like marauding black death wrapped in a spherical gradient of tortured spacetime.
Like, words literally cannot describe how cool black holes are. If they did not actually exist, I doubt that the world's 100 top rated sci-fi writers locked in a room for a month brainstorming could come up with anything nearly as good. When do you ever get something that is as top tier psychologically impactful as it is so deeply rooted in fundamental scientific truth about reality?
Physicist here!
Black holes are the ultimate astronomical phenomena. They are regions where the very structure of reality is contorted into something alien. Defined not by substance but by the warping of spacetime, a black hole is a solution to Einstein’s field equations wherein the metric tensor collapses into a singularity—an infinitesimal point of infinite density, where curvature diverges and our mathematical descriptions disintegrate. The event horizon, delineated by the Schwarzschild radius , marks a boundary beyond which causal relationships cease to propagate outward. Nothing—not matter, not light, not information—can escape. From within, the geometry of spacetime becomes so distorted that all paths, all timelike geodesics, inevitably lead inward, like water down an infinite drain.
Time bizzarelt dilates near the horizon; a distant observer would see infalling matter slow, redshift, and fade, asymptotically frozen in time, somewhat like a hologram eternally flickering at the border. Simultaneously for the falling observer, however, the descent is finite and inexorable as space collapses inward, and the singularity looms in a finite proper time. Should one hypothetically remain on the event horizon itself, a null surface traversed only at the speed of light, the geometry becomes especially... strange: light emitted tangentially could orbit indefinitely along the photon sphere, forming a closed loop. So in this scenario, were you to gaze precisely forward, the curvature would distort light rays around the hole to the point you'd witness the back of your own head—an optical recursion born not of mirrors but of warped topology.
Even the notion of mass becomes disquieting here. A black hole's presence is encoded in the curvature it imposes, describable via the Einstein tensor and its coupling to the stress-energy tensor , yet the interior contains no structure! No matter, no surface, only the singularity at , where predictability ends. The laws of physics as we understand them yield only silence in response. And yet, paradoxically, black holes are not immutable. Quantum field theory on curved backgrounds predicts Hawking radiation: virtual particle pairs near the horizon become real, draining the hole of mass over unimaginable timescales, leading to eventual evaporation. What remains, if anything at all, is unknown. In this way, black holes are less objects than they are boundaries of comprehension: blind spots in our cosmology where mathematics hints at truths too extreme, too indifferent, to be made fully human.
Dorothy Allison, from “To The Bone”
tumblr has been the most consistent thing in my life since i was like 14
Hey if you ever worry that your art is too self-indulgent and weird, consider the following:
You know Franciso de Goya? Yeah that Goya. The one who painted "saturn devouring his son" and the other 13 of what are called his "black paintings", which are dark, creepy, and while you might not know all the other ones, if you only vaguely recognise the name Goya, the first image to pop into your head is probably this one:
Unless you've got an art history degree. This post isn't aimed at people with an art history degree. Anyway, those of you who aren't into art history probably only vaguely know the story, of how he was a painter and these 14 were his private paintings, only painted for himself, not commissioned by a customer and never intended to be publicly displayed. People were shocked when they were first discovered, due to how starkly different they were from his other, more traditional and conventional paintings.
This is the part I want you to meditate on: Goya also made plenty of normal art for normal people. A whole bunch of perfectly normal paintings.
How many of those can you name?

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i hope a man who's not sure about me never finds me again.
i hope he stays far away from me if all he brings with him is doubt, confusion, and a heart that cannot choose. i hope he stays away if he still doesn't know what he wants, because i am no longer willing to hold love from a man who doesn't know if he wants to stay or leave. i've already spent so much time trying to be enough for someone who never made me feel sure. i've already wasted too much love on someone who couldn't decide if i was what he truly wanted. and i don't want that anymore. i don't want to fix the parts of him that he doesn't want to heal on his own. i don't want to keep waiting for someone to finally see me clearly.
so if he is still unsure, i hope he never finds his way to me. because i have no space left for almosts. i have no space left for maybe. i have no space left for someone who's still standing in the middle, still looking around to see if something better might come along. im saving my heart for something real. im saving my love for a man who is sure of what he wants, and who is sure of me. because i know that i am worth that kind of love.