Hannibal is my new favorite thing.
Really though, how can you not love this little cannibal. He’s classy as shit.
when did i become such a terrible student?
i haven’t done /anything/.
music theory definitions can.. burn. in the deep depths of hell. tempted to replace definitions with pointillism drawings. the joke is i can’t draw. huhuhuhu
i have promptly ignored my homework for 2 hours. and im not even half way done.
go..dgnwuierovbawbkl
shat. and i am supposed to have family friends I haven’t seen in years come over tomorrow.
what is wrong with me
spring break come back i need sleep pleaaasee? cry
Reblog if you consider Nine your Doctor.
I’m doing a thing where i’m trying to find out which is the most popular revival regeneration.
It’s okay Pluto, you’ll always be a planet to me.
It’s okay I’M NOT A PLANET EITHER.
PLUTO IS A PLANET.
PLUTO WILL ALWAYS BE A PLANET.
YOU WILL ALWAYS BE A PLANET.
PLUTO DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A CHANCE TO SHINE!
It’s okay Pluto, we all love you!
Was the link on the post really necessary?
that sure is a nice spring season you’ve got there
be a shame if anything
happened to it
(Source: jaclcfrost)
I find that I am
a heavy thing: bones encased
by honey, thick and hot
on a summer morning.
North Carolina:
the sun sets
and stars creep over
the horizon I’ve drawn
across my chest like
Spanish moss.(If you were to
drop me into a pond,
I would surely sink.
Even my dust
is cumbersome.)
This girl’s writing is so detailed and so complete, and full. Her poems stick in my mind for days.
The Search - Rita Dove
Blown apart by loss, she let herself go—-
wandered the neighborhood hatless, breasts
swinging under a ratty sweater, crusted
mascara blackening her gaze. It was a shame,
the wives whispered, to carry on so.
To them, wearing foam curlers arraigned
like piglets to market was almost debonair,
but an uncombed head?—-not to be trusted.
The men watched more closely, tantalized
by so much indifference. Winter came early and still
she frequented the path by the river until
one with murmurous eyes pulled her down to size.
Sniffed Mrs. Franklin, ruling matron, to the rest:
Serves her right, the old mare.
Probably my favorite Rita Dove poem. You can find it in her book Mother Love. Lots of poems devoted to Demeter in there—like this one is. This focuses on Demeter’s mourning after the loss of Persephone.
