neilabramjostcns

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9 versions of Morning on the Seine, by Claude Oscar Monet

c. 1897

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Jane Fisher.

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the feminine urge to stay gone. be unseen, be unavailable, be unheard of. disappear.

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reading fanfic in bed is one of the best things that could happen to a person

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i love it when you read multiple works from a writer and you start being able to pick out the things that stick with them. like the themes they keep thinking about, that can’t be satisfied with just one poem or novel or story. or the motifs they like to reuse and recycle throughout their works like an extradiagetic thread. it’s like drawing a map through a writer’s collection of all the things that keep them up at night

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a tired mime on break leaning against nothing and smoking an invisible cigarette

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Jean-Yves Moreau you are a REAL one for this

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never been happier about changing my url so many times

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absolutely hate it when the pleasurable activity procrastination hits. i’m going to do something fun that brings me joy but not yet. yeah, not yet. not yet. maybe i shouldn’t do it at all, it’s not that fun

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my me themed tumblr account

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we as a society moved on too fast from the fact that jesper uses his fabrikator power to make his bullets never miss & can shoot without seeing a target. and still not miss. and bend shots etc. that's the coolest fucking thing ive ever heard. can anyone hear me

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eat an entire can of sweetened condensed milk. you deserve it.

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🚨📣A distress call from grieving hearts Together we face the harshness of life.📣🚨

To those with compassionate hearts and generous hands

We, sisters Alaa and Manal, come to you today with hearts filled with both pain and hope. The harsh winds of war have swept us away, and we lost our father and our lifelong support, our husbands, leaving behind children whose only fault was that they were born in a time when security was scarce.

Im Alaa, am a mother of two young children, a four-year-old girl and a two-year-old boy. Every day, I wonder how I will provide them with a living and the necessities of a decent life. Life did not give me a chance to say goodbye to my husband. All I have left of him is a ring with our names written on it.

my sister, Manal, she has three children: an eleven-year-old boy, a three-year-old boy, and an eight-year-old girl. Her suffering is compounded by a neck injury that is pressing on her spinal nerve, threatening her with quadriplegia.She needs an emergency operation to relieve pressure on her spine, but this operation cannot be performed inside Gaza due to the lack of resources. This makes caring for her three children an unbearable challenge.

Our tragedies did not stop there. Our sick mother, who suffers from pulmonary fibrosis, lives with us and suffers in silence. We have all lost our homes, which were destroyed by the war, and we have experienced the bitterness of displacement and displacement dozens of times. We lived in tents, experienced the harshness of homelessness, and today, we have no stable source of income to help us cope with the burdens of life and meet the needs of our children and our sick mother.

We have exhausted all our energy and our resources. We search for a glimmer of hope, for a hand to reach out to us and lift this heavy burden. Today, we appeal to you with broken hearts but with dignity that refuses to be broken, to extend a helping hand. Every contribution, no matter how small, will make a huge difference in our lives.

We believe that there are hearts in this world that carry goodness, and that your humanity will be our support. May God reward you for all you do. With deep thanks and appreciation,

Alaa, Manal, their children, and their mother.

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A really good tragedy is one in which it simultaneously seems like there are a million and one moments in which a single character could’ve made a different choice and everything could’ve ended up better, and like nothing could ever have averted this terrible end.

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i no longer dislike mondays, i’m mature now, i dislike the whole week