'Now as I lie alone in the dark, miles from the noise and talk, I'm reborn'

'Rich with images of random violence, copulation, drug abuse, loitering with intent and other misdemeanors, this sociopathic jump tune is sure to become a classic zebra in the annals of Punkadelia.'

K M K（今日も京成）

smich mezi reflektory humor do kapsy

あかるいくらしのマスコット

It's the 17th of May 2026 so that's 26 years in Japan for me. This crumbling dry cleaners had just opened when I arrived and, unlike me, is still going strong.

Yer sultry summer stillness

"Hello.... HELLO!!!!"

"Why do you sit reading by yourself, Tamasin, instead of playing with the others?" said Horace. "People have to read by themselves," said a girl of ten, keeping her hands on her open book. "And people do nothing by themselves too. We are waiting for time to pass."

A rough week. A week of clouds.

VINTAGE SONY NICE PRICE STICKER for music lover nostalgia classic 90s - relive the niceness of the price with a NM roll of classic Sony Nice Price stickers - recall a simpler time when prices were nice 25 count sticker vintage notsalgia music fan CD vintage retro stickers

There are several songs that never made it into the final cut of Peppa Pig's My First Album because producer Daddy Pig deemed them "too evil" and "imbued with uncanny darkness."

now the day passes #roadside

A garden of the flowers that appear in Swann's Way for #WorldCollageDay.

Well then, that being fully understood, it would be indeed churlish of me not to

they cast long gleams of light over the turbid sea

L-R: Neil, Chris

Yes, Graham, apologise.

ᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴇᴀᴘᴇꜱᴛ ɴᴇᴛꜱ ɪɴ ᴛᴏᴡɴ #internetcurtains

Sunday stillness on Coffee Peacock corner

There they are now, all the League. Dressed in their best togs. Out on the razzle.

'Gawsworth, whose real name was Terence Armstrong and who also wrote as Orpheus Scrannel, having served in the RAF under the alias T. E. Shavian, had the year before he took over from Muriel declared himself King Juan I of the fantasy micro-kingdom of Redonda.'

I have a deep appreciation for records whose outward appearance lets you know precisely what you're letting yourself in for. Was this Add N to (X) phono-hexagon the one The Black Hit of Space by the Human League warned us about? Yes. #youwillliveintheplasticcountryside youtu.be/nTqd7lrL-w8?...

There are places I don't remember There are times and days they mean nothing to me♪

this side STEREOLAB over FUXA

Post your warning sign

'The atmosphere was cooler when they came out of the church. Its taste was the taste of an air that has been blown over leagues and leagues of green stalks full of chilly sap. It made Solent think of water-buttercups in windy ponds, and the splash of moor-hens over dark gurgling weirs.'

'A large bumble bee sails round the garden in the cold easterly. The sun is still shining. The old fisherman who, face to the ground, cycles past each and every day, as weatherbeaten as the nineteenth century, has forgotten something and turns back.'

Cube-chan guards the fashions

Stop making that big face

モト

The Tokyo, the Tokyo, the Tower, the Tower

Blumenpolitik

Here Comes Midweek

Another Green World / That's your azaleas out

Oh you've got blue eyes

Too long and hard a week but a nice sort of mackerel sky

Here Comes Midweek

' 'And I know you by sight,' went on Mrs Wilkins, who, like all the shy, once she was started; lunged on, frightening herself to more and more speech by the sheer sound of what she had said last in her ears.'

Geese in the valley. Geese in the city. Geese in your soul.

Unchanging moods of Tashiro-chan

Subway stillness sub Saturday city / Futuristic owl face

Blazing Saturday, urban hanamizuki

📷 A pigeon on a window looks at a seagull on a cannon

Chippy tea Friday #2

More nothing much.

Early stroll. A cat watches me lock the door. A slice of the moon has gone. Bus stops are anticipation interfaces. Faraway number plates like the bottom line of an optician’s chart. Sometimes the stroll knows more about the stroll than I do.

Thus, in poetry, the image preexists the idea that will slowly seep into it. For years it may haunt the poet, whatever it may be: fabulous or domestic, dismaying or familiar. Cristina Campo, On Fairy Tales (transl. Alex Andriesse) #NYRBWomen26

This is severe. youtu.be/SElCAVubbBM?...