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Aug 1

Jul 31

reasonsmysoniscrying:

My wife suggested we make pizza by putting sauce and cheese on leavened flat-bread and then grill it.

I told her that seemed like a naan issue.

Reasons My Son Is Crying:

  • Dad jokes

Jul 28

You: hey you

You: whats up

Me: 


Jul 27
You Deserve An Oats Of The Highest Caliber

You Deserve An Oats Of The Highest Caliber


Jul 24

empty rooms of Twin Peaks x

(via twinpeaks)


Jul 21

(via centralist)


Jul 20
surrealism:

Mad Tristan by Salvador Dalí, c. 1939. Oil on canvas.

surrealism:

Mad Tristan by Salvador Dalí, c. 1939. Oil on canvas.


curiosamathematica:

The Google trend for the search query “quadratic formula”.
It repeats in the same pattern every year. Down in summer, up in September, down again in December and up again in spring time before going down again in the summer. And so it goes on forever.

curiosamathematica:

The Google trend for the search query “quadratic formula”.

It repeats in the same pattern every year. Down in summer, up in September, down again in December and up again in spring time before going down again in the summer. And so it goes on forever.

(via centralist)


Jul 19

i’m alone, wrapped in a long coat as the winter wind  howls through the forest of city high-rises. the sidewalk has been shoveled and salted but a thin layer of fresh-fallen snow is accumulating nonetheless. my boots are a bit too large and feel as if they dangle when my foot is lifted to take a step. 

i have a knit cap pulled down low on my head, flattening my hair, its visor squashed across the top of my glasses as low as possible, pressing them into the bridge of my nose. at least it’s covering the tops of my ears, which got a taste of the wind chill before i tucked them inside it. 

i’m waiting for something, i think. someone? maybe not. was i hungry? did i just eat? i can’t place the reason i came outside into the cold. maybe it was just to feel the blizzard. am i interested in experiencing that sort of thing? 

was i visiting her? surely not at this hour. it must have been food. or is this memory the conglomeration of a haze of blurred moments, left unrecorded, breezed through as my mind skipped from kiss to kiss. perhaps i am thinking to myself about the hedgehogs. do things that start complex get simpler? or is there no difference? 

maybe i was running. or waiting at the traffic light. how many times have i waited, then crossed those fucking streets? i’m patient. but the compartmentalized memories and emotions of the past years feel so foreign and dreamlike that i could convince myself that my mind did indeed fabricate them overnight. 

last night i died in a dream again.

the first time, i had been vaporized in an explosion, and then felt myself becoming omniscient, my mind racing with pure energy and understanding, my brain an organic computer not powerful enough to process what had been revealed, and so i woke as my ability to continue creating the dream collapsed.

this time, a woman and i were pulverized by a train as we rested across the track. do you know, i think she had been tied there. i think i arrived without enough time to save her, and so instead i sat down between her and the approaching train and we were both smashed.
my eyes closed on impact, and my last thought and instinct was to reopen them. so open them I did, at least somewhat. i felt a great resistance, an inability to control my muscles. it too so much effort and willpower to even partially open my right eye and scan my surroundings. my left eyelid would not lift. but what i saw showed that i was at home, in my bed, seemingly having just awoken from a strange dream. i gathered the strength to stand up out of bed and begin walking towards the door. my left eye was still unresponsive. suddenly it became apparent that i was still dreaming, and had not actually awoken yet. 

when i did awake, it was to a dry throat and a raw feeling within my lungs.

in the city, wrapped in my coat, wrapped by the cold wind, i imagine myself falling to the ground, tasting the concrete, tasting the salt, feeling the snow. being buried by a fresh falling layer and wondering how long i was to wait before i might burst up and brush it off. 

did i ease through a fence? did i carry something? it’s so cold. i feel as if i am alone.

ah, to feel alone in such a city. 

you might as well just

fly me to the moon


Jul 17
argonauticae:

landscape with the fall of icarus - william carlos williams

argonauticae:

landscape with the fall of icarus - william carlos williams

(via sisterscamp)


Jul 15

even sub-culture is becoming too mainstream, all these folks with their yellow submarines…. but nothing’s more subversive than just hopping in a submersible and diving away, far away, into the depths, chilling with angler fish, man… the marianas trench is still pretty hip imo


Jul 5

Jul 3

Jul 1

asylum-art:

Émeric Chantier Sculptures: Flowery Skulls

on Facebook, at Macadam gallery

Émeric Chantier presents objects covered verdure, arms or hearts covered vegetables , fetus wearing green and lying in a crucifix grenadeun flowery, flowery skull

(via sisterscamp)


Jun 30

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