Video 21 Sep 646 notes
Video 21 Sep 156 notes
Video 20 Sep 19,650 notes

socialjusticekoolaid:

New Protest MVP Candidate! Get it girl! #staywoke #farfromover #thefutureisbright

via Shitlord.
Photo 20 Sep 208 notes lelaid:

Louise Goldin S/S 2010

lelaid:

Louise Goldin S/S 2010

Photo 20 Sep 2,083 notes
Photo 19 Sep 466 notes hermosanikita:

Steve Kahn

hermosanikita:

Steve Kahn

via .
Video 19 Sep 56 notes

cheezecaek:

Food Library!

(Source: thisnerdisinanothercastle)

Photo 17 Sep 258,188 notes stunningpicture:

Failed panoramic.

stunningpicture:

Failed panoramic.

Photo 17 Sep 54,722 notes yungshorty:

ゲットーの王女

yungshorty:

ゲットーの王女

(Source: vous-eclairer)

Video 17 Sep 164 notes

pastel-gizibe:

Chilled.

I miss Winter.

Video 17 Sep 2,936 notes
Video 17 Sep 38,435 notes
Video 16 Sep 310 notes

magictransistor:


Nusch Eluard. Photomontage. 1930s.

Video 16 Sep 533 notes

judyjetsons:

Lazy Oaf Winter 2014 Lookbook
ph. by Charlotte Rutherford

Text 15 Sep 3 notes It’s An Old Song

"It’s an old song
On a new record
That carries me over the thresholds of change.
Another hymn for the choir to drone
Over the white noise hum
Of engine fuel and wheezing gears;
A record that skips and sputters
Over a time-traveler’s oft-repeated voyage
In a beat-up golden machine;
A record that coughs and chokes
Til it finds its voice
In a rumbling dirge
And, out of breath, rests on a sigh:
'I'm so lonesome, I could cry.'


New songs for new streets
To romanticize and score
With each fluttering, dead-leaf beat,
And some erstwhile refrains mixed in
Out of respect for clear-skied afternoons,
And cut classes and goosebump resolutions
To spend one final day
Sprawled out on swimming pools’ shores,
Scrawling promises in the sands of summer temples
To keep those wicker torches burning-
A set of diamond stars
Stoic and braced for the six-month itch
Of bitter winter cool;
One closing day
Of open windows
On a spindle-limbed final course
Of arms stretching forth from window panes,
Speaking in blue-smoke fingertips
Flittering and fighting through
The carefree threats
Of bonfire-perfumed air–
We’re made it this far,
Let’s rest amongst the roots
Of bleary-eyed trees
And burrow down beside
The dozing shrouds
Of daffodil bulbs
And wake to warmer weather’s song.


I know it’s over–
It ended years ago,
But the hymns of memory
Cut concrete roads
Through indelible, grass-lined midnight avenues,
And primeval days awaken
With the siren song of trembling guitars
That shudder and sputter
And flicker and blink,
Like tail lights blipping and bopping along enchanted freeways.
That record is skipping again,
Soundtracking holy pilgrimages
Traced over city streets
Of concrete carpets that roll out
And trap its curious travelers
In the frigid crystal-ball map
Of roads abuzz in the streetlight blur
Of a welcome apocalypse-
Shaking and stirring the ever-awakening soul
Of a sole passenger
On a maiden voyage
Across an empty planet.


I drive on and watch
As fall preserves
The grasping limbs of its uncomplaining children
In molten casts of bronze,
Circling through endless cul de sacs
And backwoods winding roads,
Alive in the rapture
Of summers’ past,
Treading the waters
Of the stagnant seas of memory;
Set sail on a journey
That ends with a hiss
And begins with a sigh–
'I'm so lonesome, I could cry.'”

-K. L. M.


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