beep boop beep

lütfen takip etmeyin

[Béa Gonzalez (sophiacycles) @SophiaCycles]

What is not real, never was and never will be. What is real, always was and cannot be destroyed.” — Bhagavad Gita, based on 2.16; (wording varies by translation)

[pinkie @pinkiepie71]

"its all in ur head" oh my god😭😭😭i thought it was in my ass😭😭😭 thank u so much😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[beep boop beep @rustikkornis]

where are the real queens with round cheeks

[beep boop beep @rustikkornis]

serenay hailey eva green...yet again jews are promoting women who look like men

[beep boop beep @rustikkornis]

trying different boys on for size
if this is my curse I'll let it ride

[Istra of Glome @byistra]

Another Brothers Karamazov banger

[𝑲𝑼𝑺𝑯𝑳𝑼𝑲 @kvshlvk]

"In sanity both [the sane poet] and his poetry are eclipsed by poetry composed by men who are mad." - Plato (Phaedrus, 245a)

[Johannes @johannesnous]

"Ruhun bedenden ayrıldıktan sonraki durumunu öğrenmek istersen eğer, bedenle birlikte olduğu duruma bak."

[em @emilyagain]

The homeless woman murdered in Central Park was a beloved artist and birdwatcher who made beautiful pieces dedicated to birds. She went by Lee Rogers, but also was known as Elise Bainbridge Hill. Her art was awesome. I hope her life story is shared and not just the grisly details

[犬 @not__dog__]

“Darkness, and light. Strife, and love. Are they the workings of one mind? The features of the same face?”

[abundant mineral deposit @deektome]

i’m pretty sure therefore i am

[vikram, aur.b., (et al.) @PottyTrainedLad]

in between the nothingburger and the everything bagel, there is a place—I will meet you there

[eBay mugs & glasses @dangmugs]

happiness is a warm pussy 🔥

[Thea @TheaEuryphaessa]

Such an achingly gorgeous poem by Rilke. A love poem to God, indeed.

[beep boop beep @rustikkornis]

önemli 👇🏻

[Chōkōdō Shujin @C_Shujin]

Human joys and sorrows, too, are directed by a stage manager behind the scenes—that is death.

Ango Sakaguchi, 'Dark Youth'

[🦋 @loveisanonion]

Shirley Jackson, 𝘏𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯

[Yoon @nicoscosc]

“Whenever I attempted to sing of love, it turned to pain. And again, when I tried to sing of pain, it turned to love.”

— Schubert at twenty-five
(“Mein Traum,” July 3, 1822)

between places, with Schubert 🖤