I must not brood. Broodiness is the mind-killer. Broodiness is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my broodiness. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye t

much to think about tonight. unrelated detail from the master of the greenville tondo's saint sebastian, painted c. 1500-1510

silouan the athonite kind of day

opening this website after any given sunday

rabid with boy-liking; need to be put down

hey. don't cry. anemones seen here using specialized body growths called acrorhagi to attack each other during an argument in the intertidal zone, okay?

scenes from the lady speedstick unfold set

once again remembered i am charming and articulate but only when chiming in to add nuance to the hanya yanagihara discussion around the pub table

rilkeposting through it

bizarre being in a place where the old is dying and the new cannot be born. had a little scroll through my instagram archive and cannot 4 the life of me recognise that 24y/o cis girl baby with a superhuman talent for keeping the ptsd symptoms under wraps (summer 2022)

no feminism except whatever the men of r/polyamory have going on

sundays are for burrowing. nestling. cocooning. Not, perhaps, for shivering/shaking/being haunted by the shadow of ever-encroaching fascism

communing with the dead! on the riposte dancefloor

god gives hir bounciest tits to hir most transmasculine warriors 😔

not knowing anyone at the party. send skeet