and shall i couple hell?

haha like a poet or whatever.
weeaboo-chan:

history1970s:

jackanthonyfernandez:

emes:

radioheadofficial:

liftingdrifter:

BOW DOWN TO THE LOBSTER LIFTING QUEEN
idk about yesterday’s total. Maybe like $150 with the 5 pairs of earrings?
Yeah I lifted a vibe from spencers too. A label on the side said there was a security device enclosed. That was a lie.

what the FUCK this bitch stole LOBSTERS that’s some real next level shit

loling about
1. stealing lobsters
2. making stealing lobsters part of your personal brand

I love everything about this

how the fuck do u steal a lobster let alone 2 im so done omfg

SHOPLIFTING TUMBLR IS FUCKING WILD

weeaboo-chan:

history1970s:

jackanthonyfernandez:

emes:

radioheadofficial:

liftingdrifter:

BOW DOWN TO THE LOBSTER LIFTING QUEEN

idk about yesterday’s total. Maybe like $150 with the 5 pairs of earrings?

Yeah I lifted a vibe from spencers too. A label on the side said there was a security device enclosed. That was a lie.

what the FUCK this bitch stole LOBSTERS that’s some real next level shit

loling about

1. stealing lobsters

2. making stealing lobsters part of your personal brand

I love everything about this

how the fuck do u steal a lobster let alone 2 im so done omfg

SHOPLIFTING TUMBLR IS FUCKING WILD

 Eliza:  i believe it is a kitty hat
 me:  D:
 Eliza:  you should probably open it and try it on and post photos
 me:  do you have an agenda here
 Eliza:  n
no..

Even at the Mysteries, he could never get warm,
crowded into the dark with the kist and the serpent,
the smart of pennyroyal on his tongue like a word
he had forgotten to say. Like a frostline in the soil,
the plunge of a colder sea … The sun silvered his hair
like olive leaves, the dry months burnt him browner
than Attic earth; the thin snows fell on Parnes
and he shivered even in the white arms of his bride,
the barley-plaited girl who sang round the well-head
like his elder sisters so long ago, the fallow year
a wanderer sowed blessings in the Eleusinian fields
and burnished him with her touch, an archaic mask
of gold. Like the daimon of his house, the glittering
awn, and still the old nightmare flickered up in him
at an ember’s breath: the fire that smelt of incense,
the shapes falling like a handful of tears, of poppies
and mare’s tails, of a girl’s face and stalks of corn
that glowed like scepters in the unwithering flames.
He had rested so soundly in her old woman’s arms,
his child’s length measured in her lap. The hall
in the shadows that leapt like stooks, the sparks
chaff-tumbling up about them, threshings of godhead,
her seedhead crown. And his mother’s hands dragging him
like a brand from the cinders, blackened, beaten out:
cold running in his veins like time. Yet imperishable
honor will be on him always
. A garland of myrtle
at a hero’s tomb, the north wind and the autumn rain
like aulos and kithara for the stitching of songs
he would shatter to the winds if his wife’s arms
would warm him, his children’s bones not shine
like a killing frost, if he could wake a serf,
a slave, memoryless as a ghost, the king’s tall son
and fair as harvest, goddess-dandled, lucky, lost.

Homeric Hymn to Demophoon —  Sonya Taaffe. (via cerasiferae)

Even at the Mysteries he could never get warm

(via johndarnielle)

sapphicscience:

this is a good time to note that if you don’t think trans women are women i’d like you to get the fuck away from my blog

(via 3liza)