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desiresdiedown:

- You trippin’? | via Tumblr on We Heart Ithttp://weheartit.com/entry/85141467/via/EverythingsTrippy

filthymoraldisease asked: Sorry for being rude in my first message, this has just been happening to me a lot lately and I don't appreciate my credit being stripped from my work. I'd really appreciate it if you could add a link to my blog onto your post of it please? Thanks very much

You have every right to be upset. I would be too if I knew someone deliberately removed credit from something I made. In fact, I do have very significant personal experience with exactly this. But in this case, I looked for a source and found none. In other words, it wasn’t me who removed your info from your work, but I am glad to see that it did find its way back to you. Please forgive me and happy blogging.

Anonymous asked: Please don't repost stuff.. If you "have" to, give the person credit like a link or something!

Have you looked at my blog? You can plainly see the kind of stuff I post, from a variety of sources. If I see something that strikes me as pretty, or otherwise inspiring, I will post it without hesitation, whether or not I am able to discern the content’s origin. If credit is given I always leave it intact, for it is my greatest wish that creators be recognized for their work. Thanks for taking the time to read, happy tumblring.

(Source: tiredandtrueofheart, via passive-manipulation-420)

andro-saurus:

the-pinkfloyd-sound:


we-pray-as-wolves:
I Can’t Paint by aartishinde
This is really intense for me, because this is exactly what artist’s block feels like. You’ve got color all around you, all over you, inside of you, in your fucking soul, and you can’t get it out on that canvas, that sketchpad, that digital screen that just sits there and yawns, white and infinite in front of you like an enemy, or worse, like a lover you can’t hold because they’re too far away. You sense what you could do if the lines and shapes and colors would come to you, but it all stays just beyond your straining fingers, no matter how hard you reach for it. It’s worse than a sense of your own inadequacy; it’s fear and it’s pain, and it’s everything you feel like you could accomplish but can’t because somehow, the colors won’t transfer from your hands, from your being, onto that white surface. You can’t paint. You can’t even begin.

oh god I want to cry




me currently

xyvch:

Beautiful Rudeness - hand type

(via justinemariewideman)


Mother earth masturbates, too.