Diego Rivera - Cubist Landscape, 1912, oil on canvas, 65.4 x 90.2 cm
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

★

titsay

Product Placement
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Not today Justin

🩵 avery cochrane 🩵

Andulka
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
YOU ARE THE REASON
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
trying on a metaphor

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occasionally subtle
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@salamanderinspace
Diego Rivera - Cubist Landscape, 1912, oil on canvas, 65.4 x 90.2 cm

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I really love not being in or on or around the ocean
Urban organic smush mechanic superhuman wordplay powers help me fly around the planet
So I have a couple shows still running, finishing up their runs, and I should start reaching out to galleries to set things up for the winter season. Something is inhibiting me. My art feels like it's not mine, like it no longer represents me or my feelings, it doesn't do what I want in the world. What do I want? Mostly to hit things with a sword. I'll have to figure out how to make that into art, somehow.
I have to find allegiance to former versions of me. Then I can deliver old poems at the open mic; then I can fight for the spotlight.
I'm going to see the Odyssey tonight. It's the first time I've gone to a theater since before COVID! Actually that's not true - I totally went to Chunky's once for a party. But that one feels like it doesn't count.
She is very lonely

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As someone who is both trans and has a child, absolutely hilarious to me that society presents one of these as absolutely only to be done if you are 110% certain and have proved to several people that you want it bad enough and are ready, and the other is like. You might as well everyone else does. Just do it nobody feels ready. You don’t want to? Yes you do
Especially since one of those is pretty reversible if you change your mind after a couple years and the other one, well, technically but that’s pretty frowned upon
Sometimes when I'm In the bed I feel like I'm hiding from people. Like they don't know in here, and that's the only reason people aren't being so so awful to me. Those are the two options: be forgotten or be a target.
Stolen
In the airport at Shanghai Pudong, after the cab Where a bald man tries to speak Mandarin at us, Zuoyou, Xiexie And before you board a bus to Canton, My hands are full of bags. I'm rushing to catch my plane and they're clacking against each other, A shell necklace of luggage, A camera bag, a backpack, a plastic bag of snacks with the grocery logo on it, And many more. In my hurry to find the terminal, to check how many minutes past one o'clock we have squandered, I have picked up your suitcase and am carrying it in the plethora. Before I board the plane with it I find myself asking, "what's this?" Popping open the catches and Seeing your things, folded neatly, and tightly. Among them is my purse.
How many times Have I accidentally harmed someone Only to find They were hurting me on purpose?
When we were teenagers we did a stint in the hospital, A place for wayward girls, a kind of prison, And they gave us the cosmetics from a girl who died Letting us decide what to keep and what to throw away. I wanted to keep everything because I'm accepting And you winced, cringed, you didn't want any of it Until after I had claimed it.
Would it be too intimate if, next time someone inquires "what's new in your life" with a degree of sincerity, I tell them I got a new toilet seat?
Rejection | Tony Tulathimutte

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Here finally Kant perceives the true rift between them: Julian doesn’t know the difference between embarrassment and shame. How shame soaks, stains, leaves a skidmark on everything and, when it has nothing to stick to, spreads until it does. Embarrassment is contained by incidents, gets funny and small over time; shame runs gangrene through the entire past, makes the future impossible. You can’t own it or laugh it off, only try to bail it out in sloshing bucketfuls, drenching yourself in the process. Embarrassment is an event, shame a condition, one that Julian has somehow either mastered or never experienced, which explains why he’s so easygoing, and why, to him, the world is so tractable, why all seems fixable with talk. What’s inside Julian is smooth and fragrant, his desires desirable, and so his words are gift wrap, sometimes sloppy but always appreciated. Whereas if Kant ever relaxes his vigilance, allows his own sick and malign requirements to escape through the candor of voice or touch, they could never be recontained. Plus, there’s this inkling, with Julian’s soigné friends and ambiguous employment and the Dartmouth diploma that he never mentions but hangs framed on his bedroom wall, that wealth is part of it, somehow. And/or race. The power that all this confers on Julian can’t be roleplayed away.
- Rejection, Tony Tulathimutte
fucking the everything bagel for everything
everything? including war?
fucking the war bagel for war
The constellation of Carina, the Keel // E. Slawik/NOIRLab/NSF/AURA/M. Zamani
Click below to read more about this ship part as well as an annotated image!
Rejection by Tony Tulathimutte

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Your breakneck wit and expert satire is scaring the hoes
Outside you there are two wolves. At least. Probably more