August giveaway

wolftea:

A small giveaway for the month of august!
The monthly giveaways are a thank you to both followers and customers for keeping my spirits and the shop alive!
You all keep the motivation and inspiration flowing <3 
XOXOXOXOX

usual guidelines apply:
- each reblog and like counts as an…



And the rest is rust and stardust.
Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita (via larmoyante)


stunningpicture:

My dad in Antarctica in the 70’s

stunningpicture:

This forest is filled with ghosts


englishsnow:

mrmrsglobetrot






torterraoftropius:

ms-macky:

Caucasian Ovcharka

  • aka Caucasian Mountain Shepherds
  • aka Mini Russian Bears
  • 200 pounds of Bear hunting cuteness

bear-pups



You taught me that Sunday mornings were made for treating my lungs like a fireplace and my mouth like a chimney. You taught me to keep the fire burning until every word written in the bible turned foreign. You showed me how quickly you can hotbox a room full of people that just need something to believe in. You taught me that every woman has a spot on her for each of the ten commandments, “this is how you worship.” You taught me how to love men who spoke words worthy of god but had eyes spilling over with sin. You taught me how to rest my knees on hardwood floors every night to pray with empty hands and a full mouth. This is how you take shots of holy water. This is how to befriend the devil. This is how a man lays with another man while wearing his Sunday best. This is how you fall down a staircase to heaven. This is how to clip your wings. You taught me that all I needed to do in order to find divine revelation is drown myself in vodka. You taught me that heaven and hell are nothing more than dressing rooms sitting behind earth’s stage.
This is how you strip down to nothing or wrap yourself up in purity (via paiqey)

(Source: cruelcutie)






10bullets:

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 Brett Amory: "Waiting"
“The painting series entitled “Waiting” depicts the urban individual’s yearning for presence and the seeming impossibility of attaining it. The paintings portray commuters in transit immersed in either a quiet, even hopeful state or, alternately, an anguish of unfulfilled anticipation.”