@ragamuffingunnar / ragamuffingunnar.tumblr.com

ɪ'ʟʟ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ʙᴜʀɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪᴠᴇʀ. ᴍᴀʏ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ғʀᴇᴇᴢᴇ
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!! Nazipunks, verpisst euch !!

gunfucked → ragamuffingunnar

I'm having a lot more influx of followers, and I feel inclined to do a more formal introduction that stays pinned.

If you're some whackadoo r*ichblr blog, get outta here. I survived the initial weird war blog nonsense of 2011-2016ish. I have no intention of entertaining a second wave.

I'm Zeit, a creature foraying into their late 20s, unfortunate American. Long time lazy twentieth century war history buff. Sufferer of romanticism with the automobile. Old Hollywood and art film enthusiast. Avid folk and country music enjoyer. When the moon and stars are just right, a writer of historical and contemporary fiction.

This blog is an amalgamation of my interests. Ranging from the world wars, old actors and actresses, photography, music, art, cats, smattering of thoughts and whatever else tickles my fancy.

I have a few socials I don't mind sharing if I've known you for a long while. I'm always down to talk to new acquaintances and the like.

Anti fascist, anti homophobic, anti terf.

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"The Homecoming" by N.C. Wyeth. (1882-1945)

(Originally appeared on the November 1945 cover of Woman's Day magazine.)

As the lone soldier returns home to the family farm, he is met by rural stillness punctuated only by his jubilant dog racing to greet him. The returning infantryman seems almost to hesitate—happy to be home, certainly, but overwhelmed. The faint reluctance of the man’s posture hints at unforgettable experiences. The soldier has dropped his bag, releasing his wartime burden at the threshold of the farm so that he can accept with open arms the life he used to know and the dog running toward him. A man returning to a farmhouse he left as a boy. His burden is at his feet. But it is still with him.

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