lost-in-the-labyrinth

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hammond B3 organ cistern by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

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Hi, I'm Mohamed Ayad 🤗❤️

Hope you are well🌹

Can you help me make my voice heard

And share my family's story?🙏🏻

Can you repost my pinned post from my blog or donate 10 euros?

By helping to repost my story, you can

Save my family and children from cold, death and war. We live in the winter season in a tent that does not exceed three meters, closed with nylon. The weather is very cold and my children and family cannot bear it. In general, we live in difficult days that no human being can bear. We do not have work because of the war and we do not have any kind of money. This is accompanied by a crazy and terrible increase in prices. Although the water is not suitable for drinking, this is the cause of many diseases. The last of the suffering is that we are outside Hamad without taking our belongings or tents. Now we are searching the ground in the streets and our children and the elderly are suffering.🌹🌹

Thank you very much and I wish you the best ❤️❤️

🕊️❤️🌹🌹🌹🙏🏻🫂🫂

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

We stand with you.

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Dear Supporter,

I hope this message finds you and your family in good health. My name is Eman Zaqout from Gaza. I am reaching you out to seek your urgent help in spreading the word about our fundraiser. I lost both my home and my job due to the ongoing genocide in Gaza and we are facing catastrophic living conditions. 💔

I kindly ask you to visit my campaign. Your support, whether through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Palestinian cause. Your dedication brings us closer to freedom. 🙏🕊

Note: Verified by several people as 90-ghost and aces-and-angels. ☑

https://gofund.me/b141d50f 🔗

Please boost this and donate if you can! Love and hope to Gaza.

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A friend once told me that when they are struggling with getting laundry done, she pretends it is her sworn duty to smuggle the young prince out of the castle to safety, disguised in a laundry hamper.

Now, when I am struggling with hygiene, I pretend I am part of a village with an annual festival, and I get one day a year to spend luxuriously at a bathhouse in preparation.

What my friend imparted on me was the skill of turning mundane tasks into fantastical adventures to make them more compelling and bearable.

So next time you need to go on a mental health walk, maybe consider doing reconnaissance for a secret underground organisation.

Next time cooking is too much of a chore, consider you ability to turn space station rations into a feast to the delight of your crewmates.

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here's some mcr pics no one's ever seen before cause I took them in 2011 and finally found them on my old pc that takes about 3 business days to boot up (shit quality cause I didnt have a good phone at 15 either)

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“how did you get into writing” girl nobody gets into writing. writing shows up one day at your door and gets into you

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one of the 15 times (source) drowning lessons has been played live

and gerard did sing his ass off

11/14/2003 university of connecticut-stamford, stamford, CT

setlist

matt menard on youtube sent to me by @bilateralgynandromorph

@pissworm39 saw you mention you need this!

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Every poet is married to time

Though diversely spectral, she is our paradigm

Each in his own way, some in dulcet devotion

Their bond intrinsic as the moon and the ocean

Others find their marriage martial

But not one loses an hour and remains impartial

Time, to me, is a living ghost

Haunting me in the girl who is just like an August coast

Though her gaze stops the clock, you know it can’t last

Know she’ll run with fall and leave you with the past

These phantoms run orbital circles around me

Old places I left with old friends take on undead divinity

Like the Ides of March have possessed me to write

Letters that would somehow stop this timely blight

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An Ode to Unkillable Love

All these years fall at my feet

You have the world at yours

Time spent sweltering in your heat

Months to come will see grief for the god who lures

His temple forgotten, cowed, I kneel

On the icy lake which has overgrown

Your burning summer looks my eyes would steal

And then remember harshly June’s willow-tree groan

Whispering sweetly for a thing so coarse

Calling me to a confused kind of prayer

Devoted at least, but as if to a wild horse

Each year after this May, I’ll go back there

Never again will you be in the places that we share

Except for my irrevocably fond mind

Rippling through so electric, so beautiful, so rare

Beneath the lake you’ll lay evermore, but it’s me enshrined.

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Bianca Stone, from What Is Otherwise Infinite: Poems; “Mary Magdalene”

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Sunrise, Louise Glück

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anyone else the loneliest girl in the world

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Mary Oliver, "When Did It Happen?", Felicity

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Where I once thought the land ends

Renowned and remembered ground lost to time

He is waiting, and kindly pretends

That we are the same, that I am a paradigm

His heart-like nature overflows

Beating fully, telling me about

All the things that he loves, that he knows

Cutting away all the men I had known with a drought

Though learning trips on nature’s course

Unwavering and tough he stays

Teaching me brutishness was never a malignant force

Listens even after my mistrust in shadowy days

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Louise Glück, from Persephone The Wanderer in "Poems 1962-2012"

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Here lies a penultimate sky in December

Before the sun has sparked or culled her final ember

Where lilac preens like a bruise well cherished

And green winks to tell us not all life has perished

Where Jack Frost rides pink chemtrails like chariots

At dawn, with the stars sleeping soundly in navy cots

Together colours burst forth vibrant and merry

While the moon lingers, not yet weary

Tangerine orange splits across the picture

Whispering heartily of friendship’s shared rapture

Gives her half to the waxy yellow figment

The cure of art enhancing her pigment

This long list of lovers gives way to blue

Embalming earth’s dome, winter through and through

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She sees angels in the lane

Remembers death, thinks prophecies plain

Close to earth only when wrapped in nature’s caress

With love woven into her every golden tress

Ribbons interlaced and tied in bows

A silent moment of remembrance dedicated to those

Infallible moments, while she was sexless and true

When girlhood was wild, without thought of shirt nor shoe

When the suburban summer was nothing but hot

Before the abscess of womanhood had started to rot

Now she stands as proud as she can

A siren, a selkie, a beast to man

Ancient and winnowing beneath sunlight-dappled grass

Safe in the knowledge that her memory will pass