Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends & we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.
Pink sand on Ellafonisi Beach, Crete, Greece. Pink sand is formed of tiny red organisms that grow on dead coral reefs and pieces of shells which fall to the ocean floor and are washed onto shore.
Photo credit: Jan-Erik Larsson
On this episode of context and race (AKA context and my face)
tl;dr I was freaking out about nothing
I think the best writing advice I’ve ever gotten is that both humor and tragedy live in the imagination, so a little coyness goes a long way.
"John was thrown out of St. Bartleby’s for an embarrassing incident involving a chicken, some horseradish, and an otherwise prudish vicar" is generally funnier than actually describing, in detail, what John did.
“For sale: Baby shoes, never worn” is generally going to be more quietly, gently sad than describing the messy necessities of grief.
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I LEFT MY COMPUTER ALONE FOR ONE DAY
WHY DOES THIS HAVE 400 NOTES
Whenever I press play it’s synched perfectly. Magic.
fun game, don’t say any of these words when ur talking online & see how long u last: