ellievsbear
Discoholic 🪩
pixel skylines
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
🪼
Sweet Seals For You, Always
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
RMH
Product Placement
YOU ARE THE REASON
The Bowery Presents
@theartofmadeline
Xuebing Du
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
shark vs the universe
Today's Document
One Nice Bug Per Day
h
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
seen from Bangladesh
seen from India
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seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from Brazil
seen from France
seen from Brazil
seen from Singapore
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from United States
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@potatodewd
the death of ivan ilyich
ilyich is ordinary, but so am i, and so are you, and so is anyone reading this. we all perform the drama of mattering, until we're forced to see how little we actually do. it's not pessimistic, just clarifying.
i mean this as consolation, not despair. tolstoy's genius is how he makes the process of dying both monstrous and almost comforting. if we are all so easily erased, then maybe the erasure isn't failure but inevitably.
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The ability to shape wants from experienced satisfaction becomes a rare competence of the very rich or the seriously undersupplied.
“It’s summer now, and you’re craving a simpler existence. You want to read. You want to write. You want to meet strangers for dinner, and not refuse another drink at another bar. You want to dance. You want to find yourself in a basement, neck loose, bobbing your head as a group of musicians play, not because they should, but because they must. It’s summer now, and you’re looking forward to worrying less. You’re looking forward to longer nights and shorter days. You’re looking forward to gathering in back gardens and watching meat sputter on an open barbecue. You’re looking forward to laughing so hard your chest hurts and you feel light-headed. You’re looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You’re looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you, which tightens your chest, which pains your left side. You’re looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You’re looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last. You’re looking forward.”
— Caleb Azumah Nelson, Open Water
Gabrielle Calvocoressi, “No Poems Today,” in The New Economy
The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky (tr. Constance Garnett)
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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Beverly Engel, Healing Your Emotional Self
“Anatomy of a Hug" by artist - Luna Lu
also a poem from the new, unreleased collection. very possibly my own all-time favourite.
it’s yo fault if u get hurt holding on to a mf who has shown you time & time again that they not good for you
Nearly all our faults are more forgivable than the means we use to hide them.
- moral reflections.
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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men are like "this woman has studied this subject her whole life and I'm a man, so we have equal knowledge abt it"
"i would send you this post but you are dead to me."
#life #pdb430
My body shifts and contorts for you to admire it, why don't you?
I've broken bones and reshaped myself for you, am I not beautiful?
My lungs yearn to breathe In your air, even if every intake of it is a poison to me.
-Skye
earn money and live the life you have always wanted.
treat yourself better. you deserve it.
2049 Without Love
i motion, no legs
grey below and above
a vastness of empty space
i stand alone
an eye awake
i fear those around me
they motion too
death surrounds my pupil
i don’t mind the dirt
i kill things too
emotions my world
all things end
a life
that’s a serial number
one in billions
i’m lost
a sea of souls
what makes mine unique
i wonder in sorrow
perhaps they wonder too
mere data makes a man
it’s funny, they say
to be born is to have a soul
but how does one know if they were born
after all before
it’s the one thing zero remember
perhaps it’s the city
claws of concrete
scrape the sky
and my sanity
green turns to grey
no one seems to notice
geared to exist
not to live
i roar my hate
i river my sadness
i strive my love
but so do you
love, or mathematical precision
meaning evades me
what makes me not you, cells
what makes man not machine, cells
what makes flesh not programming, cells
i’m trapped, cells
the mind
our greatest creation
the drive of memory
the battery of freedom
and yet how quickly it becomes our enemy
trapping us within it
visualizing our mortality
showing significance
while simultaneously denying it
i was told you’re special
under stars of metal
brain wanders
until wires find it
screens call out
as they do to others
eye glue
we’re plugged in
worlds incapsulate us
not our own
but better
more violence, sex, pain
you all love it
pain reminds you
the joy you felt was real
more joy, then
but joi isn’t without luv
back to love
it must hold the answer
i cradle my heart
within my chest
each vessel a corridor
the archive of emotions
i’ll ask deckard
shattered eyes stare
what's it like to hold the hand of someone you love
the answer lies in my existence
duality it requires
useless without a second
but one and zero don’t make two
interlinked
together we are greater
more human than humans
more humans than human
interlinked
people approach
my mouth dialect
it is invigorating being asked personal questions
makes one feel
interlinked
the past rushes back
pain and love
interlinked
and i am alone
misplaced day and night
i trudge on endlessly
capital my creator
01101001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101001 00101100
00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100001 01100011
01101000 01101001 01101110 01100101
escape
to be something else
the labyrinth exit
is found inside
not so much there as you think
amongst the gears
forever turning
my tears the oil
i struggle against the tide
all the courage in the world can’t alter fact
my mortality emerges
crimson rise
coat of snow
inconsistent clarity
everything real should be a mess
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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I'm old enough to remember when Indie Folk was a big deal and I had brief aspirations of gigging at cafes and singing my sad songs for lonely people as they drank their coffee and eat their little pastries and treats. People that acted happy in their waking lives, had relationships, friends, lived different experiences and from vast walks of life, but deep down inside harboured longing for something else. Those people that, without knowing so, carry that Christopher McCandless spirit within them. Maybe I envisioned myself playing an original that struck someone so deeply that it would force them to search themselves in a way they hadn't needed to before. Maybe that's just the sort of thinking a vaguely delusional 18 year old man has when they're daydreaming about life, love, and art. The fact is that I could be doing that right now. I'm in the perfect position to do so, but I haven't yet. Maybe that long lost dream is still on ice, waiting to be thawed out one day. Still need more life experience before I try and relive Inside Llewyn Davis. I'm also reminded about driving around my hometown late at night, in the middle of winter, with the windows down, blaring Bright Eyes, and feeling so fucking cold but so fucking alive; vital. God, I've already lived so many lives and if I'm lucky I have so many more left to live. Maybe one day I'll finally understand myself enough to grasp at contentedness and hold onto it, clutching it to myself like an elderly widow clutches at a photo of their long lost love. Maybe one day I'll stop kicking the shit out of myself for not being enough, and accept wholeheartedly, that I was enough all along and that I never needed to be anything else except me.
I don't want a relationship for the title, I want a best friend, a spiritual partner, a soulmate.
