he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosimo Galluzzi

Origami Around

JVL

β£ Chile in a Photography β£
noise dept.
tumblr dot com
Peter Solarz

blake kathryn
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Kaledo Art

if i look back, i am lost
dirt enthusiast
Misplaced Lens Cap
Today's Document
I'd rather be in outer space πΈ

shark vs the universe
Three Goblin Art

seen from Japan

seen from Italy

seen from United States
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seen from France

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from Singapore
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seen from Italy

seen from United States

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@plantkat

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Patchy
Neopets general discussion board is all like "discuss your aches and pains" "share your latest office drama" "my elderly dog is having medical issues" now

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kym = kill your myself
i could never leave this website
every day i wake up and praise the transmasc homo habilis who first informed women that we could have sex with each other 2.4 million years ago
a pool for just the transfems
I guess the reason all that Backrooms stuff has never really fazed me is because I worked in on-site networking support for a while, and literally every city's downtown district is just Like That once you get off the beaten path. Not just the really big cities, either; the one I'm currently living in has a population of less than 250 000 β metro area included β and a downtown area about six blocks across, and the service corridors still manage to do some House of Leaves shit. At one point I was trying to map the route of a misbehaving network cable, started out in a shopping mall parking garage, and ended up surfacing in the basement of the casino across the street. Totally unsecured β apparently neither the mall's administration nor the casino's managers knew that particular service corridor existed.
Like, I once bumped into a fully stocked and operational Coke machine in an unlit maintenance corridor twenty feet below ground level. Its display lighting was the only illumination for a hundred yards in either direction. I don't even know what it was plugged into.
Somewhere below this city there's a room the size of a high school gymnasium filled floor to ceiling with rotting mattresses. I've seen it with my own eyes β and, more importantly, smelled it with my own nose. I can't recommend the experience.
(That last one isn't even mysterious. The room in question is within easy walking distance of the basement of a major hotel, if you know where you're going; I imagine the hotel started stashing their old mattresses there at some point rather than pay to have them hauled away, and over the ensuing decades the situation got out of hand.)
In response to a couple of recurring questions in the notes:
I don't have any experience with the weirder corners of university campuses β my work in that particular job just never happened to take me there. I did, however, once have to do a cable trace in the basement of a former Christian elementary school. It had haphazardly been subdivided into numerous tiny rooms, some as little as ten feet across, with no central hallways or apparent floor plan. Every single room was, for reasons that were and remain unclear to me, full of broken kitchen appliances. One room in particular contained an enormous industrial freezer unit that was larger in its smallest dimension than any of the doors leading to it. Was it delivered in pieces and assembled on site? Did they build the room around it? That one still bothers me a little bit.
No, I did not drink the Morlock Tunnel Coke. What are you, nuts?

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["That was the one great advantage of being gay.... you beat the court. I beat 'em every charge.... Beat all my cases... [They were for] assault. One was on a police officer.... He could [identify me], but they didn't believe I did it to him. They didn't believe I could do it. He was in there, his head was all wrapped up; he had a concussion, broken nose, eyesβ and [he was] about a six-footer. And there I am, looking as pathetic as I could. And I remember the judge, he says, "You did that?... Why you couldn't weight a hundred pounds soaking wet," he says to me. I says "Ninety-eight." He says, "I don't believe you did this; no, I have to throw this out." Cop's name was Donovan. Dick Donovan.... He was a troublemaker. That happened in the Mardi Gras, that I got his ass.... 'Cause I always say, Swing, don't stop, because don't give them a chance. Don't give them a chance, they'll kick the shit out of you."]
sandy, from the persistent desire, edited by joan nestle, 1994
happy comic day here's mine
these never got posted here
yes keep filling my ego with notes
more.
if i could absorb an image into my soul itβd be this one
THE POMPOUS FOP has declined your gift.
1x MID-GRADE BRANDY 1x STRINGY GAME HEN 1x MEDIOCRE PLUM PUDDING
Have been returned to your inventory.

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Danger!? Tsuchinoko?
its tsuchinoko tsaturday