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actuallygrimes:

haha

(Source: literallysame)

07:11 pm: auroraglorialis115,679 notes

picture HD
brontebitch:

Marry me to St. Vincent.

brontebitch:

Marry me to St. Vincent.

(via actuallygrimes)

08:48 am: auroraglorialis3,156 notes

picture HD
anasaltukhaifi:

Umbrellas Street, Portugal.

anasaltukhaifi:

Umbrellas Street, Portugal.

(Source: jasmineberryful, via emmyc)

03:45 pm: auroraglorialis41,501 notes

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virtuesinclair:

My brother cosplayed as Steven Universe today at WonderCon… It was the best… People would chant “Cheesburger backpack!!! Cheeseburger backpack!!!” every time they saw him… Someone even shouted “I love you Steven” as we were leaving…

(via vilecrocodile)

12:14 pm: auroraglorialis12,647 notes

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ribbu:

here are some photos of me bein a nymph

(via cacty)

11:03 pm: auroraglorialis12,228 notes

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facepalmmozart:

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau [1957]

facepalmmozart:

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau [1957]

10:54 pm: auroraglorialis215 notes

10:55 am: auroraglorialis26,403 notes

quote
Language can only begin with the void; no fullness, no certainty can ever speak; something essential is lacking in anyone who expresses himself. Negation is tied to language. When I first begin, I do not speak in order to say something, rather a nothing demands to speak, nothing speaks, nothing finds its being in speech and the being of speech is nothing.
Maurice Blanchot, “Literature and the Right to Death,” The Gaze of Orpheus (via heteroglossia)
02:23 am: auroraglorialis142 notes

quote
I think: there at the point where thought joins with me I am able to subtract myself from being, without diminishing, without changing, by means of a metamorphosis which saves me from myself, beyond any point of reference from which I might be seized. It is the property of my thought, not to assure me of existence (as all things do, as a stone does), but to assure me of being in nothingness itself, and to invite me not to be, in order te make me feel my marvelous absence. I think, said Thomas, and this visible, inexpressible, nonexistent Thomas I became meant that henceforth I was never there where I was, and there was not even anything mysterious about it. My existence became entirely that of an absent person who, in every act I performed, produced the same act and did not perform it.
From “Thomas the Obscure,” Maurice  Blanchot (via sisyphean-revolt)
02:22 am: auroraglorialis18 notes

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02:09 am: auroraglorialis2 notes