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KIROKAZE

if i look back, i am lost
h
Noah Kahan

oozey mess

gracie abrams
Cosmic Funnies

Discoholic 🪩
almost home
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Stranger Things
noise dept.
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
RMH
The Bowery Presents

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@matthiassaihttam
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The hoax took place in Florence in about 1409... The victim was a carpenter named Manetto, known as Il Grasso, "the Fat Man." Manetto specialized in carving ebony and owned a shop in the Piazza San Giovanni, not far from Filippo [Brunelleschi]'s house. He was prosperous and good-natured, but one day had the misfortune of incurring Filippo's ire after missing a social gathering. Never one to resist retaliation, Filippo resolved to exact his revenge for this perceived slight by persuading a wide cast of characters to convince Manetto that he had metamorphosed into someone else.... As Manetto closed his shop one evening, Filippo went to his house near the cathedral, picked the lock, slipped inside, and barred the door behind him. When Manetto arrived a few minutes later, he rattled the door and then, to his alarm, heard what sounded like his own voice (in fact, Filippo doing an impersonation) ordering him to go away. This impersonation was so convincing that eh retreated in bewilderment into the Piazza San Giovanni. There he met Donatello, who inexplicably addressed him as Matteo, and shortly afterward a bailiff, who likewise hailed him as Matteo and then promptly arrested him for debt. He was taken to the Stinche prison, where his name was entered in the jail book as Matteo. Even his fellow prisoners--all of them party to Filippo's prank--addressed him by this alien name. The carpenter spent a sleepless night, fretting over events but solacing himself with the thought that he was merely a victim of mistaken identity. This comfort evaporated the next morning when two strangers--the brothers of the real Matteo--arrived at the prison and claimed him as their kin. They paid his debt and liberated him, though not before chastising him for his supposed gambling and profligate living. More bewildered now than ever, he was escorted to Matteo's home on the other side of Florence, near Santa Felìcita, where his protests that he was not Matteo, but Manetto, appeared to fall on deaf ears.... He was then put to sleep with a potion supplied by Filippo and carried, unconscious, back across the river to his own home. He was laid on his bed in a reversed position, with his head at the foot and his feet at the head. Awakening many hours later, the poor carpenter was confused not merely by his position on the bed but also by the disarray of his house, for his tools had been completely rearranged. His perplexity grew with the arrival of Matteo's brothers... greeting him as Manetto and relating the curious story of how the previous evening their brother Matteo conceived the fantastic notion that he was someone else. The story was soon confirmed by Matteo himself--the real one--who arrived at Manetto's house to describe his puzzling dream of having been a carpenter. The disarray of the house was explained by the fact that in his dream Matteo noticed how his tools were out of order and in need of rearrangement.
Source: Brunelleschi's Dome, Ross King
What the hell was going on in 15th-century Florence. You miss a party and get elaborately mindfucked by a pissed-off goldsmith and his buddy Donatello. Manetto ended up moving to Hungary over this and who can blame him
Kyle Gordon's back
My six glorious stomachs are interconnected in such a way that digestion is like a tactical board game in that choosing in which order to move what piece of roughage to whichever stomach involves a certain amount of game theory which the cells of my tract must carry out without the direct intervention of my oblivious bovine brain
it’s kind of cool to view Nolan’s The Odyssey as a high budget fan-work in the Greek Myth fandom, a fandom which is over 2,000 years old.

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People of america, when I took office with the mandate to kidnap every gamer neet from their home and force them to dig water retention berms in the desert many said we were crazy. "They'll all die of heatstroke," "their weak bones will snap after an honest days work," "their pallid skin will melt in the sun." Well I stand here today to admit you were all right, my bad.
i dont care how much you like the various cosmetics you buy it is NOT worth poaching gnomes. At the gnome preserve i work at we find the poor things basically fully intact with only the hat and shoes taken. And for what? To be ground up for lip gloss and moustache wax? its not ok.
does anybody know how to get out of bed. or be a better person
wow
if I fought 50 badgers at once I would lose
if I fought 60 badgers at once I would do even worse
I would win easily but it's only because I'm a country

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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lets mix a color
red
blue
green
everyone i've talked to about this has been completely unaware so: if you didn't know already, there's going to be a solar eclipse, with totality or coverage of 90% or more in some places, over a lot of europe, on august 12th 2026. in the uk it will start just after 6pm, and the maximum will be at 7:13pm.
here is a map of the path of the eclipse (from timeanddate)
get eclipse glasses if you want to look at it. it is not safe to look at through sunglasses. ok informative post over o7
mostly missing me but i know a bunch of folks that are right in the path 🥰 enjoy it for me, my lovelies!
my dear friend who does not have tumblr (@abysmal_odds on discord!) has asked me to post her art here. show her some love!
How'd I cut back on caffeine? The usual. Diet, discipline. One thing that helped a lot was that I harnessed the void. I tapped into the little incipient void which sits at the heart of every thinking animal, and I fed it. I hatefully nurtured it with every malicious thought, every unkind impulse, every knee-jerk reaction best discarded, and it gorged on these things it metastasized. It swelled past the confines of my heart and fought for space with with my stomach, my liver, my intestines, winning handily, subsuming each in turn, until I was little more than a man-shaped howling wrathful abyss sheathed in taut, paper-thin human hide, wandering through this fallen world in anticipation of whatever fleeting offense finally catalyzes my inevitable rupture and detonation. And now I'm down to two, maybe three cups a day
Every time some fash posts about Real Art vs Duchamp's Fountain it's like lol that urinal has been kicking your ass for a hundred years
Marcel Duchamp kicked the bucket 55 slutty, slutty years ago and you can't get him out of your head. You're half as old as he is dead and you are worshiping at his altar, you are drinking his piss. He won.

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tumblr that's me. you're recommending me to me
i'm 34 feet tall