Winged Tapestries: Moths at Large, a special exhibition of oversized prints by Canadian artist Jim des Rivière
Chelsea Wolfe in Ovate. Photo by Kristin Cofer.
my gorgeous, sister.
Directors: doing it right.
Ugh I love Aragorn.
— Neil Gaiman (via showme-love)
I spend a good portion of my time going to work so that I can pay rent, pay bills, and pay for gas to get to work. I come home and watch Netflix on internet that I am stealing, when it’s miraculously working. I have a snack that I bought with food stamps, and then I sit at home for the rest of the night because I don’t have money to do anything fun, and because I have to work in the morning. WHY?! Why the fuck do I waste so much of my time and energy working just to pay for a place to live? If I’m going to give someone 8 hours of my day in exchange for money, I want to use that money on fun, cool shit that I want to use it on. But no. I give it all to people and various companies that are just trying to take my money and fuck me over. And they are winning. This pisses me off, A LOT. I don’t think I really have a point here, but life just seems like a joke to me when all of my time and money is spent on and doing things that I don’t want to do or pay for. Why am I doing this to myself when I get no enjoyment out of it? What the fuck is the point? Can’t I just fast-forward to the end and not deal with all of this bullshit?
I mean REALLY think about it. Is it worth it? Right now, I’m inclined to say no.
I remember the color of your hair, but not the color of your laugh. I remember your name, that one’s easy; I don’t remember how your parents say it in their native tongue (I forgot that one the second you told me). I remember that you exist, that we spent some of our time together for what now feels like a blip, a sneeze, a little nothing. But I forget everything else, like what brought us together and what drove us apart. And mostly everything that happened in between that.
I forget what it’s like to kiss you and what it’s like to want to. I forget what it feels like to hold your hand, if we ever even held hands, it feels like we didn’t. I forget what it’s like to trust you, to believe in you, to need you. I forget what it’s like to think that I’d never forget any of it. For a long time, I thought I never would. You and I both know you left ghosts behind, but they seem to have found someone new to haunt. Maybe it’s you.
The inside jokes have already dissolved into unordered words with no punchline. The gifts have been reduced to objects whose saving grace is their monetary value, no meaning and all function. There are photographs, somewhere, but I’m not the person posed in them anymore and whoever that is sitting next to me, all dressed up in your costume and wearing your mask, well, that’s not you either. But what do I know about who you are? I forget that part, if I ever knew it to begin with.
I won’t forget you the way I won’t forget the Blizzard of ’96 or the pain of getting a wisdom tooth removed. Like something that happened to me once and then unhappened to me and then didn’t matter anymore.But I will forget you where it counts, like in the eyes and in the mornings and in the moments that felt and looked and tasted a lot like love. I will forget you in those places because I already have.
Stephanie Georgopulos (via angry-ghost)
Bitch please…I got rid of all the pictures sooo long ago! ha!
Wood looking like bones. Washed ashore.
This is Ruby Beach in Washington, about 2 hours from my house! I love it there!
At least I’m not the only one that thinks so.