It’s been 3 years. You made me hate the fall.
art blog(derogatory)
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Peter Solarz

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if i look back, i am lost
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

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@winterssaddiscourse
It’s been 3 years. You made me hate the fall.

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“If I disappear, knock at the closed door of me, and wait patiently.”
— Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson
anything that costs you your peace is too expensive

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A man unrequitedly in love will stand outside your home and knock, throw, kick, holler, relentless in pursuit. Foreign to the idea of a space he is unwelcome in. A woman unrequitedly in love will sit. She’s far away from your house. She knows it’s not for her. She will wait, she has gifts prepared if she is ever invited in. She has herself prepared if she’s not.
im at a point where i just don’t fucking care about anything. nickleback’s photograph came on the radio and i didn’t change the station. just sat there and listened to fucking nickleback. who gives a shit. we’re all going to die anyways
Christian Louboutin x Sabyasachi
The Adventures of Liana Finck

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Freddie Oversteegen was 14 years old, when a gentleman visited her family home in the Netherlands to ask her mother if she would allow her daughters to join the resistance.
Ninety-year-old Freddie Oversteegen was one of the few women that were active in the Dutch resistance during WWII – along with her sister Truus and the famous Hannie Schaft, who was killed just before the end of the war. When Freddie was 14 years old, a gentleman visited her family home to ask her mother if she would allow her daughters to join the resistance – no one would suspect two young girls of being resistance fighters, he argued.
And he was right. The Oversteegen sisters would flirt with Nazi collaborators under false pretences and then lead them into the woods, where instead of a make-out session, the men would be greeted with a bullet.
tactics!!!
DAMN 👀👀👀
The real Black Widow
She should teach a class! I’ll sign up in a heartbeat!
Hero
Hag Island Professor
by Paul Lacolley
Whatever it is you’re seeking won’t come in the form you’re expecting.
Haruki Murakami (via khanos)

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to have fucked up your day by my body in those old pink sweatpants that don’t fit and are stained from a cooking accident on the thighs. It’s my fault I have not kept up the dye job and my roots are dull, gray and inching towards the ends. This belly fat is about 6 years old now, and the spots are from an aging situation I inherited from all the pale ancestors who only recently emerged from the forests we were banished to by history, poverty, an act of murder (long ago) and other bad luck, real and imagined. I know I could try to be someone else, like a person on TV, perhaps, but the only shows I watch are English these days and about the unfortunate, where actors have yellowish teeth and red eyes. No wonder, you’d say, and I am only ashamed in some distant, uninvolved way. It’s not personal, I’d say about my body if you and I were actually able to speak, it’s more like a kind of darkness or artichoke. I can imagine your laugh if I’d said that. It’s craziness, really, that part I secretly feel I must kill to survive, to call that after a vegetable which is actually a variety of thistle, (the roots are called suckers!). If I could hold hands with you on public transport, beside the woman who smelled different from any of my people, the man who said mother- fucker many times in various places in one long sentence into a phone, the strollered and beribboned baby (pierced ears) who twitched in her guileless sleep, and what then if you could say I am hateful and despairing, and I’d console: we all are too?
SATURDAY RUMPUS POETRY: “Shame” by Connie Voisine. Click to read two more poems. (via therumpus)