tautline-hitch

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one of those searches where you think "this will either be completely fine or i will encounter a fetish i didn't know existed"

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midaugust midgrade cancon blast

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How Some of It Happened

by Marie Howe

My brother was afraid, all his life, of going blind, so deeply that he would turn the dinner knives away from looking at him,

he said, as they lay on the kitchen table. He would throw a sweatshirt over those knobs that lock the car door

from the inside, and once, he dismantled a chandelier in the middle of the night when everyone was sleeping.

We found the pile of sharp and shining crystals in the upstairs hall. So you understand, it was terrible

when they clamped his one eye open and put the needle in through his cheek and up and into his eye from underneath

and held it there for a full minute before they drew it slowly out once a week for many weeks. He learned to lean into it,

to settle down he said, and still the eye went dead, ulcerated, breaking up green in his head, as the other eye, still blue

and wide open, looked and looked at the clock.

After our father died, my brother promised me he wouldn't. He shook my hand on a train going home one Christmas and gave me five years,

as clearly as he promised he'd be home for breakfast when I watched him walk into that New York City autumn night. By nine, I promise,

and he was, he did come back. And five years later he gave me five years more. So much for the brave pride of premonition,

the worry that won't let it happen. You know, he said, I always knew I would die young. And then I got sober

and I thought, OK, I'm not. I'm going to see thirty and live to be an old man. And now it turns out that I am going to die.

Isn't that funny? One day it happens: what you have feared all your life, the unendurably specific, the exact thing. No matter what you say or do. This is what my brother said: Here, sit closer to the bed so I can see you.

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‘Hands weaving magnetic-core memory, IBM, Poughkeepsie, New York,’ 1956. Photograph by Ansel Adams.

This photograph was made on a commercial assignment for IBM.

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CROSS STITCH PATTERN - Windows 95 Glitch by ArtByRomShop

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Embarassed to find the following in my icloud notes:

ros&guil but spelled rng. as in Are. anne. gee. the random. number generation

seems fitting (heads heads heads)! + god dog i eye i god dog ?

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“Number 12 Looks Just Like You” | The Twilight Zone

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debating the headline phrase "a 28-year-old woman is dead". how long are you 28 after you've died? forever?

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I SHALL NOT WANT , by me, 2025. i don’t usually do textile work but i have been lately i guess

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There were some young kids playing at the park today. One of them said “Liar liar pants on fire!” The other one replied “I don’t even care about that. I don’t even believe in that.”

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trireme ft tiny sextus

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and so…they were both afflicted with really deep-seated & complex culturally determined neuroses about the meaning of penetrative sex

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horacevergil makeout drafts?

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guy who's profiting from it: look, i don't like it either

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my tumblr follow saw a polar bear and all they got me was this stupid cryptid photo

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Gustav Klimt, The Park, 1909