So, Californians And Anyone Willing To Travel To Hollywood: YOU Can Save A Costume! (or Two?) YOU Can

New Works of Basil Hallward, part 2 of 2. (Here's Part 1).

This is the first Secret Knots story this year, I hope you like it!

reblog for something very lgbt to happen to you on nov 5th

oh to be a nun in 1350 enjoying quiet time and gardening and having lots of lesbian sex and then dying at the ripe old age of 36

oh to have a silly little house like this...

I

“write a love poem for you, it will open up the door to compliment yourself.” it is hard to see me, most of the time. like your brain filling in the missing space from between your eyes, except the opposite. an invisible force feeding the cat the space between a group of friends, an empty bed, a hazy image in the mirror. my gaze jumps over me to regard the far more interesting world. I am a good observer. That is enough for now.

Sometimes

Sometimes I wish I listened to my

Heart

Drive till I can’t see anymore

Break into abandoned factories

All while making molotov cocktails in a car that

Doesn’t exist

Only companion

Is the guilt that meows

Softly from behind dirty glasses

Telling me that I could have saved the world.

How can a person save anything

If the only thing they want to do

Is for their dead heart to Beat?

Pokemon Gameboy Terrariums made by Saphira

CHARACTERS AS COCKTAILS 🍹 ➤ nondisney ladies (part 2/3)

To be a submarine

I often wonder what life would be like if a different choice was taken. Whole universes resting on left or right, effort or slack, grace or ignorance. It is an often enough thought that people have - brighter bulbs have puffed their pollen upon the winds of the universe on this exercise. In my illness, it is a daily one. I used to live in Indiana. I moved there for love and was courageous enough to find it twice. I say courageous because I do not believe in luck. You have to make your own luck in this world; granted some folk are graced with coincidence and random generosity -  happy little accidents in the evolutionary algorithm. Luck is putting yourself in the right place, and working to find the perfect opportunity. I often wonder that too - if it was love that my partners saw or opportunity. Indiana saw me pressed to the edge - broke, desperate, hungry, heartbroken. Still I thrived and made things work. I too had broken down, had bared my soul, had looked into the abyss that dwells within every heart - still I rode with chin high and eyes clear. The knife’s edge that forms the barrier between our worlds is that I chose. I chose to hollow myself out in that personal hell. I was a robot, surviving any pressure simply because I was not allowed to feel it. I could not think, nor thrive, but I could survive. Now I eye warily the seemingly countless gauges, diving deeper to examine every shipwreck and artifact commissioned to the sea. Sweat beads as my mind creaks and wails; still the hands hold course. I wonder if it would be wiser to send unfeeling metal to discover. Or if the bravery of venturing into uncharted waters is the point.