vulturepunk-archive

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silent landscape

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Bee Enamel mug // AliceDrawsTheLine

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I ATE A BIG BAG OF FACTORY REJECT SEEDS UNTIL A HEALTHY FLOWER UNFURLED IN MY CHEST ...

I MISTOOK THE SENSATION FOR LOVE AND DIED.

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what if I told you trauma was a stalker follows me room to room visits me at work, leaves dead animals on my day planner texts me knives, licks my memory before I have a chance to get it right

— Mary Lambert, from “The Good News Is You Won the Lottery, the Bad News Is the Lottery Is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across

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“There is a beauty in falling in love with a language—the strangeness of its sounds, the awe of watching the sea-surf of a new syntax beating again and again the cement of your unknowing. Learning to speak again can be erotic—the unfamiliar turn of the tongue, the angle of the mouth, the movement of lips.”

Ilya Kaminsky, from an interview conducted by Edward Clifford (x)

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Through a churchyard

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alone with you

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One of the creepiest places I’ve ever been. Like a horror film waiting to happen.

The Hospital de Bonecas (The Doll Hospital) - Lisbon, Portugal

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Sometimes they were almost beautiful, if you didn’t think about the repercussions of their collective presence, about how they were just one big walking signpost that read “it has all gone to shit, and nothing can be good again”.

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instagram | idreaminflowers

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A compilation post of things in a sort of similar vein and trail of thought.

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i collect a lot of things and one of those things is pencil sharpeners

(https://www.instagram.com/p/Bb-xwohBa5-/)

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where i’m at girls

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Plague doctors are so funny. Imagine being a dying peasant and fucking spy vs spy shows up and tells you “I literally can not cure you”