onehundreddollars:

Johnny Bryan, in the new Shabby Doll House

onehundreddollars:

Johnny Bryan, in the new Shabby Doll House

(via johnnybryan)

r u a 90s kid?

lapellis:

hey 90s kid!
attention 90s kid!
how r u 90s kid?
did you know you’re a 90s kid?
remember this from the 90s 90s kid?
you’re awesome 90s kid because you were born in the 90s.
in which part of the 90s were you born 90s kid?
if it’s too early or too late then you might not be a 90s kid 90s kid.
try imagining a time when you were in the 90s
being a 90s kid
and you watched or said something that originated in the 90s,
isn’t that nostalgic 90s kid?
isn’t nostalgia amazing 90s kid?
nos-tal-gi-a, 90s kid, say it with me, nos-tal-gi-a.
just outta your teens but ya feel breathless when you think about being a 90s kid, don’t ya 90s kid?
i’m a little jealous, 90s kid.
i was born in 1997 so being a 90s kid kinda flew over my head 90s kid.
i still listen to avril lavigne, though, that was a cool 90s thing.
wait, what, not the 90s?
well the goo goo dolls were cool too.

(via takethetitle-deactivated2014041)

Perihelion

oxytocin-iv:

I pull the moon
across Atlantic shores
(West to East). She
side-eyes me. I stare
her down. It’s
important.

(via syntaxandsemantics)

katejustkate:

a visual representation of sunday mornings

katejustkate:

a visual representation of sunday mornings

(via katejustprocrastinates-deactiva)

katejustkate:

the dining hall doesnt open for another 15 minutes or so so here’s this 

katejustkate:

the dining hall doesnt open for another 15 minutes or so so here’s this 

(via katejustprocrastinates-deactiva)

blankslate fb status.

blankslate fb status.

Steffen Mitchell’s Bloogshuck: The Art of Not Dying

steffenrmitchell:

Do you guys know how hard it is to die? I know you hear about it every day, and human life seems rather fragile considering that people are constantly getting murdered and starving all over the world, but even people who go out of their way to deliberately kill themselves succeed less than ten percent of the time. We’re pretty hardy things. You can even survive a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head with a lot of luck and a lot of grit.

It’s fascinating to me that Tumblr fosters this weird reinforcement system for fragility. Like, “Conglaturation! You survive another day! I are proud!”

It assumes that one’s life is constantly mortally threatened because they have to face hardship or hormones or heartbreak or victimization. For some people I’m sure that’s true. Some folks do live in legitimate mortal danger every day.

But most of you don’t, and I think you’re selling yourselves short with this whole “proud to still exist” thing. I mean, I guess you can be proud of still existing, but chances are you were never in mortal peril to begin with. Now, I’m not judging anybody’s fearful state. Fear is real whether it’s misplaced or not, but don’t creep into this frail baseline “Continuing to exist is the best I can do” state. It’s a low standard and it sets your mentality to a low standard. It perpetuates languidness. It’s letting your troubles crush you.

You’re a hell of a lot better than that no matter who you are, or how dire your circumstances. You’re fucking great. Go fight crime.

Pigskin

lucywithanumlaut:

go steady with me
not like the tweeker’s hand
or the mercury poisoned
violinist

come to me with your
hands safe in their gloves
made from the rapists you skinned

call me the flora and fauna
of an elephant graveyard

Jayarrarr Geographic Explorer Presents: The TWC

jayarrarr:

*For best results, read using your best David Attenborough impression. If you don’t have a serviceable David Attenborough impression, Morgan Freeman works as well. If you can’t do Morgan Freeman either, just use Samuel L. Jackson. Everybody has a Samuel L. Jackson impression.

I’d heard rumors of a clandestine elite society, or “clique” calling themselves the “TWC.” Folklore accounts describe these seemingly-random letters as an acronym for [the] Tumblr Writing Community, but I was skeptical. To find this elite society, I realized I’d have to first get to the bottom of what exactly this “Tumblr” was and how writing came to be a part of it. Then, and only then, could I determine how this community was formed, and whether it was possible for outsiders to be accepted and become a part of it.

Tumblr, as it turns out, is a frightening and dangerous virtual space inhabited by many people who have either been turned away by traditional society, or would like to believe that is the case for reasons that still confound me. In islands surrounded by calming blue, these inhabitants — variously called “tumblrites,” “tumblrinos,” or simply “tumblrs” (there appears to be no universal agreement on a designation) — communicate with each other using series of images, videos, and remarkable repeating moving images known as “GIFs.” Occasionally text is also used, which appears to be where the “writing” portion of “TWC” comes from. More outcast than most Tumblr users, the “writers” of Tumblr appear to for the most part eschew the more beloved visual format of communication in favor of words that must be read. Having isolated their location and the commonality through which these individuals bonded, how to become a part of their community was all that remained.

Before I attempted to infiltrate the TWC, I received multiple warnings about the exclusionary practices and elite nature of its members — but I remained undeterred. Upon initial observation, I discovered that although community members purport to communicate using human language, most often English but occasionally other forms, the language used is not entirely recognizable as English but may be a new dialect. Community members make frequent use of words such as “hearf,” which is either a typographical error resulting from a fevered attempt to type the word “heart” or some strange combination of the words “heart” and “barf.” While initially these conversations were somewhat difficult to decipher owing to sometimes liberal use of such words, I soon learned community members were more than happy to translate if I but asked.

Thus it was that, through intensive and extensive study, I was able to infiltrate this secretive community and learn their ways. Once done, the veils of elitism and exclusivity I’d previously been warned about disappeared. As it turns out, people within the TWC openly and willingly communicate with nearly anyone who communicates with them. In fact, I was a bit taken aback by their quite nondiscriminatory nature. Far from being exclusive, this group readily accepts pretty much anyone, regardless of age, sexual orientation, race, gender, religious beliefs, or really anything else typically used to separate and segregate people. Once I got past the shock, I found it quite refreshing.

For the most part it appears the rumors of this community being closed and exclusive are entirely unfounded. In retrospect it seems said rumors have been to a large degree perpetuated by those who perceive themselves as being on the outside looking in. Having made no attempt to befriend those they see as “members” of the TWC themselves, they fault those community members for not reaching out to them. Some take great pride in considering themselves ostracized outcasts and so, to paraphrase Groucho Marx, would never become a member of any society that would accept them. Instead, they grouchily (no pun intended) proclaim the community is closed to them while simultaneously insulting its so-called members and ignoring any overtures of acceptance and inclusion. Still others may forget that many writers, by their very nature, are shy or introverted types who don’t necessarily reach out to others by habit but rather wait to be approached.

Regardless of the motivations for these beliefs, it is my observation that this community, like any other, is formed by people who’ve formed friendship bonds with each other through repeated patterns of interaction. The TWC is a community of open arms, not closed doors — those interested in “joining” need only take the first step.

altlitpress:

I’m hosting a spreecast internet open mic thing this Sunday: https://www.facebook.com/events/438900866226611/

altlitpress:

I’m hosting a spreecast internet open mic thing this Sunday: https://www.facebook.com/events/438900866226611/

blankslate:

alt lit, where everybody is somebody and nobody is anybody

when i grow up

beardelemental:

when i slit her throat and displaced her internal organs
we talked about politics and upcoming summer blockbusters
and where we would be if there was no archiving of the
classical mythology that inspired centuries upon centuries
of delicate removals from our own placated miserableness.

in her blank face we laid like an indie film ending and
the credits rolled across her lifeless eyes.

i had hoped for so much,
i tell her.

i had hoped for so much.

in the deafening hollers of this southern urbanization
there are some folk who have passed their prime
who still say “when I grow up.”

the human stubbornness of hope
and the refusal to administer it
festers within us like weeds
to the cracks of the sidewalk
in front of the city hall.

when i grow up,
i tell her,
i want to save people.

i had hoped for so much.

lucywithanumlaut:

I’m only in this thing for the reviews and interviews