#ryland grace#phm#rocky the eridian#project hail mary spoilers
seen from Uruguay
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Dominican Republic
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
I’d like to live to forty too. 2020. #notesfromtheunderground #notesfromunderground #matthewfrancisrandle #painting #fineart #realism #artcollector #yellow #pandemicart #colourfieldpainting #contemporaryart #inkdrawing (at Hundred Years Gallery) https://www.instagram.com/p/CXMXok_IMI7/?utm_medium=tumblr
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 swear to you gentlemen, that to be overly conscious is a sickness, a real, thorough sickness.
I have just discovered that my unreasonably standard for characters whose issues stem not from lack of self reflection nor miscommunication have somehow been met by someone other than The Underground Man. And it's none other than HS Tikky Tokky from the Louis Theroux documentary
降る星を数え終えたら 泣くのやめて歩いて行こう
Flame by hide
I’ve overthought so much that characters who’s inner conflict arises from lack of self-reflection bored me, like SHOW ME A SYSTEMIC PROBLEM WITH A FUNDAMENTAL PART OF A WAY OF THINKING TO SHOW HOW THIS IS DEVASTATING AND NO AMOUNT OF SELF-AWARENESS CAN HELP THEM ESCAPE IT
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
Ruínas e suposições, me levam a crer que tudo foi em vão.
Crumpled note found near the back of the tool shed, tucked under a rusted coil spring. Appears to be a supply list — though the handwriting suggests rising frustration, especially toward the end. The stains may be grease. Or tea. Or both. No signature, but locals suspect it’s from whoever kept swearing at the forge last week.
It was not only that I could not become spiteful, I did not know how to become anything; neither spiteful nor kind, neither a rascal nor an honest man, neither a hero nor an insect.
Notes from underground, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
