Only as good as your last work
Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving, keep keep keep up keep it up keep on keep on keep on keep it keep it it it up up up keep up keep keep keep up eek eek on keepon peek on up

blake kathryn

Janaina Medeiros

Origami Around
Peter Solarz
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

if i look back, i am lost

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
One Nice Bug Per Day
AnasAbdin
$LAYYYTER
Three Goblin Art
todays bird
almost home

titsay

izzy's playlists!
Mike Driver

Andulka

tannertan36
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@someprallfoyall
Only as good as your last work
Keep moving, keep moving, keep moving, keep keep keep up keep it up keep on keep on keep on keep it keep it it it up up up keep up keep keep keep up eek eek on keepon peek on up

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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Things That Scare(d) Me as a Kid 2
The thought that I might be gay - before knowing the meaning of words like "gay" and "sex". At nine years old, I was the new kid in a new district. I had one friend, and this friend was so damn cool. Older, more athletic, owned a PS2 - it was mind-blowing. Today I know that I have compulsive obsessions. All I knew then was that this guy was god.
Marion by Moonlight is a summertime community picnic-style event, where families congregate in the town’s grassy square and can buy foods from local vendors. We went every summer while I was nine in an attempt to integrate into our new community. As the sun slipped beneath the town’s surface, a thought dawned on a little me. I realized that I felt an attraction to my friend. The attraction tasted familiar, like how I felt toward my female compatriots at school. I felt an immense wave of anxiety that twisted my chest, stomach and intestines. Someone was trying to mangle me. I couldn't breath. I was hyperventilating into the meltdown zone.
I talked myself down, eventually. It became an event I forgot and buried along with my other childhood panic attacks. As I confronted my own sexuality that night resurfaced. I remembered the intense fear and sadness. I have compassionate parents whose religious convictions (though sturdy and “given” to us kids) were never disparaging to homosexuality. My mother is a compassionate school psychologist, and my father grew up with a gay brother who had a hard time growing up. I have a feeling this informed their lack of bigotry. We even attended my uncle’s wedding when I was seven (of course legally it was a civil union ceremony.)
Perspective helped me realize that without explicit instruction I’d been programmed to fear homosexuality and being homosexual. Other moments infused in my brain came into brilliant clarity. A crisp recall of when I was 5 and the feminine older boy at my day care was picked on by his peers played in my head. He had had an interest in barbies. That wasn’t okay. Before becoming conscious of the media I consumed, it had enforced a strict heteronormative understanding of social norms - mommies and daddies and cowboys and belles. When that binary understanding was contested I panicked as if the world and its structures were collapsing around me. I understood these things prior to my mini-revelation in a very heady, cerebral way. From then I began to understand the power such marketing and experience has on our emotions.
I have to imagine that this panic is felt by many, and for longer than my evening foray into terror. I can't imagine holding on to that terror, the feeling that your identity is wrong. I’ve become comfortable with my own sexuality. I check in from time to time, but I’ve stayed consistent. I know that could change, and that uncertainty is scary. Fear and hatred are just tinder and flame.
For now I’m just another cis white male who has immense privilege. I can feel genuinely guilty and disgusting and can be genuinely hated by the oppressed in this society and around the world. It's a tiny burden, for sure. I don’t believe that the size of another’s burden negates others. That logic would discredit all but one person’s subjective burden. The trick is recognizing severity and what can be done to help in a non-condescending, non-ethno or any other centric way. That’s hard work. It takes a lot of empathy and thought. It doesn’t surprise me that fear and hatred are always so prevalent - they’re unquestionably easier.
Sweet Molasses
Kierkegaard spoke of paralysis from the infinite.  He explained that an individual can lose their individuality through the inability to choose. What will you study? When are you going to commit your life to a choice? It’s only the rest of life as you can see it. I’m frozen in the infinite; a jack of many trades and a master of none.
Call for Staff: Persephone’s Daughters, Lit Magazine
For those of you that don’t know, one of Tumblr’s own, Meggie Royer, otherwise known as writingsforwinter, is being bravely ambitious enough to start her own literary magazine called Persephone’s Daughters. The magazine will seek to showcase work which will empower female survivors of abuse of any kind. It’s a novel idea, and a potentially brilliant means of offering a sense of support and community to survivors. Meggie is currently looking for people to offer a lending hand with the magazine, so if you are interested in applying for a staff position, please find more details here. This is a great opportunity if you are looking to gain some experience in editing/publishing, or even if you are just interested in playing a role in giving a platform to the many talented little-known writers in the online community.
Thanks Donna <3
(art evaluators we need you!!)
3 days left!
Art at Work
When I sit down to write, a chill races up my spine and doesn't stop till it hits my brain. Â I fear a lot in my life, but not many things are as terrifying as the blank page, the empty canvas, or the dormant keyboard. Â
There is also nothing more exciting.
Fear and excitement, I contend, are two sides of the same coin. Â Or maybe a better way of putting it is that there is a fine line between the two. Â For example, before taking the stage, it is hard for me to determine whether I am exhilarated or mortified.Â
Art is a thing that I believe is inherently scary, because it can never be fully understood in every aspect. Â Things that we don't understand, especially things that can't be understood, are fearsome and awe-inspiring (see: Religion).
Sometimes all the mind needs to find its way to acceptance of fear (and excitement for the moment) is a little self-administered reassurance. Â
One thought in particular feels like lowering yourself into a steaming bath, where the suds caress you and the world melts away. Â Just because one person could never create the greatest photograph, music number, poem, book, and performance doesn't mean we should ever feel discouraged from trying to achieve as many as we can.
You know how people say, "it's like x meets y" when talking about movies? The same can be said for all art. Â
Art is an interpretation and combination of two or more previous creations.
Until someone comes along and adds that one percent of legitimately never seen, heard, or thought of touch to their art. Â That is when the game is changed for everyone.
Because everyone now has another block to work with. Â Art is a set of building blocks. Â When you start to mix genres and mediums, you create exciting spaces for people to inhabit and enjoy.
Excitement that can be turned to fear. Â So many of the "greats" were never fully appreciated in their time because of fear. Â
The idea that everyone, including our favorite artists in all mediums, are simply using the wealth that is humanity to build their own art, brick by brick, is comforting to me.
It becomes less about proving yourself, and more about exploring the possibilities.
It also seems more tangible, because it is hard to idolize the act of building when we all have the tools and material. Â Da Vinci, Handel or Thoreau, every one of them are construction workers in their respective fields.
When that brain freeze comes surging up my spine, I find a warm, soapy bath to defrost my mind. Â Our predecessors were not Gods. Â The world is at our fingertips, waiting to be built upon, construed and reinterpreted.
Build on.

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Cloudcatcher
While driving home tonight, the wind picked up a layer of snow and cast it out over the road. Â It looked like clouds.
For just a second, I was a pilot. Â Taking on dreams one step at a time.
All You Need Is Coat
I wear a coat around the house. Â A nice faux wool peacoat whose buttons are never quite secure. Â Unfastened as it may be, it is essential to survival in the bitter tundra that is my house. Â
Coats are great. Â I got to thinking about our history (the coat and mine). Â I realized that a coat is only a coat in the third person. Â The first seems more to me like a companion. Â Unyielding, flawed, loyal, the whole shabang.
With my train of thought racing I cruised into the realm of the abstract. Â The coat makes for an excellent, and therefore hackneyed, metaphor. Â The thing about cliches is that they are cliches for a reason.
It feels foreign to wear my coat in my home because I feel like I should be comfortable here, and I'm not. Â Temperature or otherwise. Â It is more than that though. Â The coat represents someone on the outside, that happens to exist as me. Â He is so entirely different from a coatless Jacob. Â
Which one is real? Â Are they equal? Do they exist? Â What is the outside but a reflection of the inside? Â Stop right there, I'll answer that with another question. Â What is the outside but a reflection of one possible inside? Â Is the external face that exists for other's sake an idealized self? Â Can the internal really idealize a self when it, by that logic, does not believe itself is enough?
Convoluted? Yes. Juvenile? Yeah. Impractical? Maybe. Â Tying your mind up in knots all day is an efficient way to never set sail.
Ahoy, she be a cold one tonight.
Mission Implausible
A promise is only as good as the one who made it. Â I don't actually believe that, but some vague, pseudo-philosophical bullshit is an easy and perhaps even classic way to start off a blog post. Â If you've made it this far, congratulations, I'm not entirely convinced you exist. Â I'll cut down to brass tax and give you all the skinny; I gotta write. Â I think I love to do it, I really do (think). Â I never actually do it though because I'm utterly terrified that I will dislike what I write when I sit down and actually do it. Â A real catch 22 when I dislike the fact that I haven't written anything as well. Â So I'm going to start writing daily. Â Nothing new about this concept; in fact, I'm hoping this series of posts goes wholly unnoticed by the world (which it has a phenomenal chance of pulling off). Â There is a level of responsibility, or maybe guilt, that comes with making a public declaration of this kind. Â I hope to find this guilt more compelling than my fear of what has yet to be written, specks of dew formed in that oh so foggy ether that is my consciousness. Â Let it pour. Â Here's to 2015, a new year with new words strung in to new sentences. Â Sound trite? Â I'm just getting started.
Knowing you're going to be alone for a long time is disturbing. It's sad on the surface, morose even, but just under that level is a whole complex web that is a real mystery. And contrary to what tumblr will tell you, watching Sherlock won't help.

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Things that scare(d) me growing up #1
While getting a haircut, the hairstylist seeing dandruff and continuing with the rest of the haircut in disgust at the perceived poor hygiene. I was an insecure kid.
No Service
I don’t call it poetry, I don’t want to be a pussy I don’t call it spoken word I don’t want to be a douche I don’t call it spoken word poetry I don’t want to be a fool I don’t call it late at night I don’t want to admit I’m alone I don’t call it self expression When I feel there’s something to prove
There's a wall in our school where people display their darkest secrets anonymously as a class assignment. I enjoy this wall very much. When I feel down and/or out, it brings into focus a much bigger picture outside of myself and my little world.
My biggest pet peeve in this entire world is when no one understands how depression works. No matter how good the day could be you could still feel be self deprecating and hate everything you are and no matter how much you think you dont need the medication you do need it so much. No matter how...
PREACH. Amen.
This is why I don't like dances. You buy stupid flowers, write stupid shit and it all just ends up in the trash. People's darkest sides come out because of these stupid dances, me included. People act out of jealousy, spite, or disregard. The empathetic turn pathetic, the apathetic turn cruel. Any situation that turns the respectable to gutting one another isn't something I want to be a part of. My earlier feelings about dances have only been verified. My cynicism on relationships is unchanged. Why do we try when the cost of failure is so much greater than the benefits of victory? Especially when victory is (arguably) no victory at all.

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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morning 101.4 off station
just need a breath of coffee
for a stint of courtesy
diners are cliche, I’m glad
today cliches aren’t weeds, but gardens
the house and kids in fact
while I stare hours out the teary-eyed window
vacation begins when she left the brew behind
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selfish,...
Sometimes I feel like an alien, from outside of this world. Disconnected from the beings around me. Am I pumping different blood, composed of something else entirely? Now is one of those extraterrestrial times.