so it goes

occupt:

emoji-nation. part 2.

(via sirensandsnakes)

Forms passed this way and that through the dull light. And that was life. by James Joyce; A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (via thenatureofdaylight)

(via balconyinbelize)

flimslit:

michael haneke - my life (2009)

(via em-ya)


“I leave before being left. I decide”

“I leave before being left. I decide”

(Source: churchofllohan, via balconyinbelize)

daikkirai:

i love drawings that use negative spaces

i love how the paper looks a little crunched instead of not having the texture of the cloth

(Source: firesaucevagina, via gluf)

paintgod:

my brief was to “Ask someone for instructions in what to do and then obey them” and i think i did pretty well! i asked my friend “what should i do for this assignment?” and she said the above quote and then i had to make a record of it!!

paintgod:

my brief was to “Ask someone for instructions in what to do and then obey them” and i think i did pretty well! i asked my friend “what should i do for this assignment?” and she said the above quote and then i had to make a record of it!!

(via balconyinbelize)

lehroi:

Brooke DiDonato

'Separation #1, #2', 2014.

(Source: jemeos, via tropicalboners)

magnacarterholygrail:

my personal style is called “i don’t have the money for my preferred aesthetic”

(via thestillnessthedancing)

Grief is not linear. People kept telling me that once this happened or that passed, everything would be better. Some people gave me one year to grieve. They saw grief as a straight line, with a beginning, middle, and end. But it is not linear. It is disjointed. One day you are acting almost like a normal person. You maybe even manage to take a shower. Your clothes match. You think the autumn leaves look pretty, or enjoy the sound of snow crunching under your feet. Then a song, a glimpse of something, or maybe even nothing sends you back into the hole of grief. It is not one step forward, two steps back. It is a jumble. It is hours that are all right, and weeks that aren’t. Or it is good days and bad days. Or it is the weight of sadness making you look different to others and nothing helps. by Ann Hood, Comfort; A Journey Through Grief (via theprimroseproject)

(via poetryelectric)

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we’ll never get used to it. by Richard SikenCrush (via queerwig)

(Source: googlebars, via queerwig)

nevver:

Fig. 1

nevver:

Fig. 1

(Source: carinepeynaud.wix.com, via poetryelectric)

Taisuke MohriResurrections, Giuliano de’Medici, pencil on paper, 73 cm x 73 cm.

(Source: arpeggia, via seradoa)

Strange how we decorate pain. by Margaret Atwood, from Oh (via letters-to-nobody)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via em-ya)

greatartinuglyrooms:

Mark Rothko (redo)

greatartinuglyrooms:

Mark Rothko (redo)

(via thestillnessthedancing)

goryamos:

Tatyana Fazlalizadeh’s Street Art Confronts Sexual Harassment

(Source: beautifuldecay.com, via oh-snap-pro-choice)

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