#spilligate

[dhusa]

SPILLIGATE ’23 HEADLINED BY: BURNA BOY December 16th in The Bahamas | Event

As the holiday season approaches, the night sky over Nassau is poised to sparkle with “Spilligate ’23,” headlined by Afro-Fusion sensation Burna Boy. This premier event, slated for December 16th, will showcase the dynamic beats of Burna Boy’s international hits such as “Last Last,” “Ye,” and “It’s Plenty.” This eagerly anticipated event is expected to weave together the infectious charm of…

[svnflowermoon]

i loveeee sending voice messages

[shoebillstork]

Pwople keep spillig their beer on me im gonna smell like a fucking frat house by the end of the night

[deadnamed]

I keep dreaming about you, I hope that means things will work out for you. I think about you all the time and it’s hard to stop my grief from spillig over. I can’t talk to you right now but I hope you can feel me supporting you from a distance, I know you can and when you’re ready, I’ll be here

[mychoicespb]

That's just like every single president that my school had (and maybe my coutry? Idk)

[logarto]

also rich people suck theyre rude and dont tip

[disparition]

7. The Rivers Dream of Rain (text version)

I.

We follow every road, cross every field our maps coated in finger oil the stains of generations

We keep all names new and old, on small wooden plaques or old dominos threaded on twine or twisted fishing line carried on the belt and around the neck

Among our people, the sound of these names - they brush and click against one another is our most Sacred sound.

We like it when you hear our approach when you hear us on your road

You quicken, you liquidize your memory hears us before your self begins to boil to foam and rise

We do not sell answers this is forbidden to us

We freely give any name in our mind ancient or weeks old – the histories bestowed on us, our heavy burden is also free

You offer, and we accept the night of rest warm nourishment a few small wooden plaques or old dominos

On our noisesome belts we carry towns, cities, roads, mountains, rivers objects strange and mundane process and plans plants and creatures favorite dishes passed down through generations

The only names we do not carry are human this too is forbidden

Your names, our names temporal or permanent these may be written only on the inside of an onion skin

We are cherished and hunted sought everywhere

Some bring us within their walls celebrate us, bestow upon us names newly made, or old stories newly learned They make us heavier. They give us more noise.

Others seek us to silence us to cut names from our belts to burn or bury They have many good reasons reasons we understand But we do not comply

We go to great lengths We protect ourselves

We were born the day the old net fell dissipated in distrust fragmented and cloistered

As the age of paper unfolded we quickly earned a natural trust and right to cross gates wander in and out of walls and gathered friends to walk with us to watch our backs against those who would lighten us

It did not take long for our numbers to grow As new waters came into the valley we walked along canals balances on the little walls met with carriers of salt rode with Fivers the length of their Way

In the days when paper cracked and peeled it is said one fourth of every other hold came to walk with us

New cultures bubble and foam across the plain Old paper blows and washes out to sea fresh skin glistens in the sun green and gold and pulsing

Our flow across fields the lines we draw between walled cities, far towers, open circles, wide farmsteads we acquire weight and thickness and shine into the glass eyes above dead and living bound to old nets and new gardens

In this way we speak The names we carry are tiny The names we carve into the earth reach for hundreds of miles

Words that stretch across the land these are the names of countries, cities, rivers, and mountains in our own secret tongue Forever unknown even to us none of us has ever seen them Glass eye above, you hold us. Liquid eye on the other side, we wait for you.

II.

It was March when she fell into the Vision The first March of the liquid days When the remnants of the fakery Still wet in the streets Waiting to be washed away Or dried into dust and carried off by winds

In April came the days of Seperation The waves of dreams from the east The flow over and under the Sierra Her Vision was a rock in the stream Vortices shed behind her

By May the formalities had fallen apart Concrete and sands shifting under the feet A shift quicker than anyone had anticipated The turning of some hidden mechanis Or opening of a door You looked behind you and it was already done

These were days of bright colors Of opening Unguided masses of the east Pulled through and into the searing valley This has happened again and again

But those who had crossed the sands Or walked the ridges and ravines Now floating just above every surface they crossed Tongues bound, silenced by the strength of that first pull She was the first to greet them

The current were strong in those days She took position in the center of the valey In the beginning it was only her senses With expert use of Overlay From the edge of her fields Alone under the sky

Then she sent her people unto the land To gather stones, the width of the circle And with this built her tower Rising from the middle of the San Joaquin

Those who came to her Learned to breathe that sacred water Soon word travelled on those currents And seekers came from all direction The wild marches of the north The communes and bastides of the valley Even the glistening shapes of the Bubble And then word spread to the mirror cults of the Southland

In those months of heat and haze She was visible only to those far wanderers Selected by her watchers Allies waiting at crossroads Or within the webs of aid that sprang up in those days Words and deeds sent to her By crow and bee

With Autumn came visiblity In other lands this is a time of darker skies Rain and turning leaf and cold wind Here it is the time of burning A new and focused heat

But distance is distance And light is light So here too we have that clarity That sharpness of season And so she began to glow Blue and violent spillig across fields Winding through canyons Crossing the horizon

Eyes awoke and turned to face her all at once They came for her – at first small and local groups The Bubblers to record and categorize To steal and mock and recreate The Christkeepers to silence and burn To meld and reshape and funnel

And then the air changed, the Southlanders came High ranking channelers of the miror cults in shining capes and glittering tights Envoys from the realms of Glendale, Cessna, Orange, Pasadean, Waterworld, and the Citadel, naked and direct, covered in shifting and confused signs Wanderers of the desert communes and priestesses of Salton, come with flowers , vines, and warnings

Overwhelmed and ever weary, she took from this widening flow And spun an elaborate filter A circle five miles around her tower Sinking into both sides of the river

Any who would approach her, the Source of San Joaquin Must carry a living plant, one year of age or older Not yet found within her Circle

Thus was born her famous garden

By December she had become fully real The flow into her Circle narrow, slow, intense The return into the world bright, jagged, searing They came with palm, succulent, and vine They left wrapped in currents and winds Eyes glowing, tears streaming

In January came the days of new accord When flowers turned to signs and letters Were wound over the gates of cities When Mia Marisol, in person, approached Bearing citrus micrantha And left with a map of ways to slip Between every mirror of the Southland

It was February when the waters around the tower Began to froth and rise as mist Unsnapped from the grid She divided and dissipated The line of her circle wound back up around its spool The tendrils of her garden, still bound to her Reaching for the sea.

III.

Those who cover themselves in empty signs And piecemeal tongues Those who live in loudness Wrapped in fragile image Snared and stretched and caught in the gaps Become as paint and pasetel Smeared gradient and shining dust This is your service and your bridge Become rose, become ultramarine, become lime, become magenta, become iris, become azure, become sienna, become canary, become puce, become mustard, become sea foam, become umber. become crimson, become ochre, become gold, become vermilloin, become feldspar, become violet, become sage...

[lost-and-mislead]

What the fuck.

Cas, baby. I love you. You deserve the world.

DEAN. WHAT THE FUCK BRO.

SOMEONE STANDS THERE SPILLIG THERE HEART TO YOU AND YOU DONT SAY ANYTHING?!

[cryptidjhs]

@yoonascafe

cr.  seokjinfile

[liltimmys]

i rlly love spillige villiage album

[akaashikelji]

i’m drinkig 4 pints of milk in the shower. dressed. me, not the milk. i chug the milk and chug and chhug and chug. the milk is spillig down me. i can’t drink all of it. but i’m trying. i chug the milk. its all over me. i’m crying. but i chug the milk. i slip in the milk tears shower. i am sat in the shower with my empty bottle of milk. i am lactose intolerant

[toomuchdickfort]

(hmmmmmmm time to write death bc i hurt my characters : ) (this isn’t the main timeline.. but i may or may not have main timeline D know about it for Angst(tm) )

Death is a noble creature, in Derrek’s eyes. It is an end, and it is a beginning. It is blood and pain and beautiful things. It’s an end more respectful than simply being forgotten.

At least... that’s what he had convinced himself. 

He had told himself that death would be pretty. And this is.. but he’s scared. What happens next? Where does he go? Does he just... stop existing? Does he linger? Suffer? What happens to someone that lost their body a lifetime ago?

What is going to happen to him?

He finds himself staring at the vibrant pink over his chest and spillig to the ground beside him as it tints red with fear, and he’s shaking. He doesn’t want to stop existing. He’d rather go back into the crystal than stop existing. He’d rather the person at the strings pull him from existence gradually than just... an abrupt stop. As much as he loathes the idea.. at least he would have a chance to come to terms with it. And the chance to be brought back.

He feels the burn of magic being drawn away, and he squeezes his eyes shut. He knows better than to risk anything with one of the holes in reality...

His vision leaves him and everything stops.

There’s nothing. All he’s able to feel is his own consciousness.

It feels rather lonely.

...Hello?

[preatoreyna]

If you had to give a play by play synopsis of the history of ur relationship w ur gf, what would it look like? (Like from the start, how you got together, etc)

i thought this said “if u had to write a play based on ur relationship what would it be” and i was about to be like “it’d be a musical set in 1800s france :3”but basically the short version except i’m starting all the way back in highschool so really it’s the long version so strap in

-i’ve known her since freshman year but we became friends junior year and actually got close super quickly-almost got a crush on her that year except i had Just figured out my sexuality so i was like let me chill out and just be friends w her :)-senior year we were basically even more close ppl thought we were actually dating and we’d always be calling each other wife/gf lmao-i asked her to prom like At school (( she knew i was gonna ask her bc i told her i was and planned the whole thing)) but it was really cute i actually have a video of it on here-after we graduated that year in like oct i got a crush on her like for realsies and i was like Huh maybe that’s why i never wanted to leave her side loved the physical contact we made and couldn’t stop thinking about her 🤔🤔🤔 but i didn’t tell her lmao-until dec i was like wahhhhh it’s christmas time and i’m aLONE and everyone is boo’d up but ME and i like her but i don’t wanna ruin our friendship WAH-then i asked my friend for advice who happened to be w her at the time so he ended up telling her -but i didn’t know at the time so the friend i live w was like enough complaining i’m texting her and was like “guerline has to talk to u”-tHEN I TEXTED HER FINALLY SPILLIG MY GUTS-then had to wait FOUR HOURS until she was alone for a response-then she said that she had a lot going on and didn’t know if we should start a relationship rn even tho she wasn’t like opposed- so i was like hehehhe well fuck BUT THEN 2 days later she was like fuck it let’s do this ((i’m downplaying it it was actually v cute and i still have the screenshots of her saying all this which i look at every other month and Melt))-and ever since then we’ve been happy :’))) we’re still best friends and we’ve Literally have never like fought or argued anD we don’t get to see each other much so when i do i’m like 💕🌈🌈💕💕❤️❤️💕🌈🌈❤️❤️❤️ and i love her so much and our 2 yr anniversary is dec 29 :3

sorry that was long but i’m gay so i get to do what i want

[troyboltonfanclub]

😲💦

Thats me spillig my beer on the dance floor im sorry if it hit u but u can try and catch some of it with your mouth thats free beer for u babey no need to thank me its my pleasure

[tomthefanboy]

This is the most interesting college seal we've encountered, for its inclusion of the sprite Willie who is conjured with the magic words "Brillig Spillig Jiminillig."  From Wesleyan College's 1953 yearbook.  [via Abecedarian]

[intotheumbrellaverse]

GRETA SPILLIG WATER ON HIS ARM TO SAVE HIM AAAAA

sHE TOOK A PIE FOR HIM IM—