clear glass bottle with black and white round label
https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1605838267654-77a1d515a998?fm=jpg&fit=crop&w=600&q=80&fit=max
i dont know anymore
wasn't this suppose to be home?
parents and their kids have issues
from yelling to hitting to leaving to drugs
well thats my life
always yelling, being hit, always leaving, on drugs to much
its not going to change
my life isn't worth much anymore
it never was actually...
i told my dad he's a fucking prick
his reaction...
he threw a glass ashtray at me
thats ok though;
being on all sorts of pills
no pain what so ever
my dad will get it back
all the stuff he's put me through
his time will come
i will not say though
it will just happen
for now
im packing up
and going home once again
but it wont change much
just wont have to put up with dad
everything else will be the same
, genre: installation, style: Neo-Pop Art, completition: 1981.
https://uploads8.wikiart.org/images/bill-woodrow/car-door-ironing-board-and-twin-tub-with-north-american-indian-head-dress-1981.jpg
It was the ride of a lifetime
That turned around so much
Here off to leave the place we slept
To fight the world and such
We left everything but the sky
In our hearts it stayed tight
By love it stood alone that time
To us it only felt right
The tire blew up before some time
The distance fell short that day
Under the stars’ night we thought that
We had not picked a way
Together we ran forever to stay
And to be with each other
Every city had a small town
All towns looked like another
The road kept us bumping around
Holding on for our love
The way got rough and hard and tough
Hardly with heads above
The road came to a stopping point
Waiting for life to live
Our place is here the time is now
To stop running from time
Glistening streams silently fall,
Upon broken shards of suffering.
The glass shards pierce my fragile mind,
And blood drips down my quavering hands.
My cries are so silent but shrill,
Yet no one detects my misery.
I beg and plead for someone’s help,
But they all ignore my eerie sobs.
Nothing but the rain touches me;
It can only wash the blood away;
I will always feel this damned pain.
But I will mask it with some façade.
Don’t worry about me right now,
These tears will dry and I’ll be okay.
It’s just another mental fight,
And it will all end soon enough.
, genre: mythological painting, style: Rococo, gallery name: Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, Russia, tags: Mythology.
https://uploads5.wikiart.org/00289/images/giambattista-pittoni/diana-and-endymion.jpg
We’ve rounded up some of the most commonly misused art history terms. Take our quiz to find out if your art history vocabulary is museum-quality—or if it needs a little restoration: https://t.co/IpAesFyjGs
a white and yellow flower
https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1656394990518-d21fd6c3af7d?fm=jpg&fit=crop&w=600&q=80&fit=max
I am a poet writing of my pain
I am a girl living a life of shame
I am he one who you made insane
I am a person wanting to know more
I am the one who you showed the door
I am the one who you will never know
I am the one who'll let you go
Because i am the one who will end the show
Jim Abrahams Brought Timeless Gags to “Airplane!” and More
With the death of Jim Abrahams, one third of the Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker writing and directing trio, a looks at some of the funniest moments from their key films.
https://t.co/8cAlDwv1Hj
‘Queer’ Review: The Seductive, Damaged Charm of Daniel Craig
The star kills off his Bond to inhabit a dissolute American expat in Luca Guadagnino’s handsome adaptation of the William S.
https://t.co/McSmp9PY2f
Dying on the toilet isn’t the most dignified way to go, and though Elizabethan poet and dramatist Sir Fulke Greville managed to avoid that fate, the toilet certainly played a part in his death. Greville’s disgruntled servant, Ralph Hayward, stabbed his master in the stomach while helping him fasten his trousers after using the toilet. Physicians filled his wounds with animal fat—but instead of healing the injury, the fat rotted over the next few weeks, and Greville died of gangrene on September 30, 1628. Maybe being quickly killed on the toilet would have been better.
there are eyes on every face
so why do yours
make my heart race
why does your smile
light up my day
and then take all my pain away
what's more
why have those eyes I prize
never once looked into mine
every day I talk to you
but still you haven't got a clue
just how much love I feel for you
I want to do what you do for me
to share your pleasures and your pain
and wipe away your wounds with ease
I want to feel your tender touch
and hear your whispers in the dark
that turn all of my fears to dust
all alone here
lying in bed
thoughts of you pop in my head
fantasies of love so true
but I'll never get
what I want from you
realization tears me apart
tears slip down my cheeks
without even knowing, you broke my heart
‘Get Millie Black’ Is a Fresh Take on the Cop Drama
Created by the Booker Prize-winning author Marlon James, the HBO series puts a new spin on a lot of old crime show conventions.
https://t.co/BB3stXsDro
Climate Activists Who Vandalized National Gallery of Art Sentenced to Prison | Artnet News
Two climate activists were sentenced by a federal judge after acts of vandalism at the National Gallery of Art and the National Archives.
https://t.co/ka1bKYDhtt
a close up of a plant with red berries
https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1677714166184-caffb26d875a?fm=jpg&fit=crop&w=600&q=80&fit=max
