hela2romantikos

[hela2romantikos]

[hela2romantikos]

Pienso hacerlo así , pero colocándole una máscara, manos y pies donde están las bolitas, no sé si me va a funcionar perfectamente pero vamos a ver xD

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[hela2romantikos]

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[hela2romantikos]

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[hela2romantikos]

Papier machi manos con base de alambre, papel, cinta azul 🫶🫳🫴🤏🫵

[hela2romantikos]

[hela2romantikos]

[hela2romantikos]

[hela2romantikos]

its getting harder to write 2 you here. it hurts in some special way.

and thats allright. it is just how it is. Accepting reality is bigger and "realer" than what we thought reality itself would be. i hope you are fine, i hope you enjoy things and learn and love and live and laugh jajajajaj im getting around the idea of you loving other humans and me being happy, because you are. like being happy for the other person, which is though stuff. one day i know we´ll be able to talk about it. but not so close from now. Send you hugs and wanna tell you i did the buildings process del miércoles .

[hela2romantikos]

Self in 1958

What is reality?

I am a plaster doll; I pose

with eyes that cut open without landfall or nightfall

upon some shellacked and grinning person,

eyes that open, blue, steel, and close.

Am I approximately an I. Magnin transplant?

I have hair, black angel,

black-angel-stuffing to comb,

nylon legs, luminous arms

and some advertised clothes.

I live in a doll’s house

with four chairs,

a counterfeit table, a flat roof

and a big front door.

Many have come to such a small crossroad.

There is an iron bed,

(Life enlarges, life takes aim)

a cardboard floor,

windows that flash open on someone’s city,

and little more.

Someone plays with me,

plants me in the all-electric kitchen,

Is this what Mrs. Rombauer said?

Someone pretends with me—

I am walled in solid by their noise—

or puts me upon their straight bed.

They think I am me!

Their warmth? Their warmth is not a friend!

They pry my mouth for their cups of gin

and their stale bread.

What is reality

to this synthetic doll

who should smile, who should shift gears,

should spring the doors open in a wholesome disorder,

and have no evidence of ruin or fears?

But I would cry,

rooted into the wall that

was once my mother,

if I could remember how

and if I had the tears.

- Anne Sexton

[hela2romantikos]

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[hela2romantikos]

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[hela2romantikos]

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[hela2romantikos]

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[hela2romantikos]

wu!

[hela2romantikos]

[hela2romantikos]

hay 15 edificios listos para llevar donde ellos