1. What I did today on the island

    -Drank coconut water (from inside an actual coconut)

    -Rescued a lost dog on top of a mountain

    -Didn’t lose my bikini top or earrings in the ocean

    -Got told to fuck off via text message

    -Got asked for my hand in marriage via text message

    Yup, pretty solid day so far. 

  2. darksilenceinsuburbia:

    Grant Snider.

    Art of Living.

    Behing Every Great Novelist.

    http://www.incidentalcomics.com/

    Dare you to argue.

  3. I don’t know how many followers I’ll lose for saying this

    But I think Kristen Stewart is the jam. Seriously.

    Yeah, she’s an awkward white girl, but she’s fucking GOOD AT playing awkward white girls. And she is gorgeous in that halfway-strung-out sort of way and always looks supremely worried. Fucking endearing. I love her. 

    So yeah, go see Snow White and the Huntsman. Go for Charlize Theron if you adamantly hate K-Stew; she more than makes up for the lack of “acting.”

    Oh, and Lily Cole is in it for like 3 seconds. 

  4. Let’s tell each other the truth about things, why not? The blunt horrible fat-legged truth is what really gets someone to like you, not those drippy approximations; no one falls in love with you until you show them some grit.

    — A Letter To My Long-Distance Crush, me for Thought Catalog

  5. androgynous-barbie:

    “What a Piece of Work is Man”: Reflection on Masculinity and Gender Perceptions (Men With “Lady” Hair)

    Besides being objectively amazeballs, reblog forever because this is some fucking important social commentary. 

  6. neonfebruary:

    Tim Burton should just make a movie called ‘Johnny Depp’.

    plot twist: Johnny Depp is played by Helena Bonham Carter

    I would watch the hell out of that. 

    So much that it would just be forever on repeat, as background noise. 

    (Source: funeralfrost)

  7. When I visited the Menil Collection in Houston, Texas, I was particularly drawn to the work of Yves Klein in the Nouveau Realisme exhibition. Specifically, my attention was captured by Klein’s photomontage, The Leap Into the Void. The Leap Into the Void, which is one installment in a collection of works, features the painter throwing himself off the side of a building into space. The photo was first featured in Klein’s compilation, Dimanche, which took the form of a 4-page Sunday paper that was actually sold on Parisian newsstands for one day in November of 1960. It bore the caption “The painter of space throws himself into the void,” which was removed in later reprints, leaving the piece more ambiguous. The photomontage, for which Klein’s friend Harry Shunk is responsible, is comprised of a number of photos, all of which contribute to different elements present in the work. For example, what appears to be Klein vaulting himself chest first into empty space was created by him jumping onto a large tarpaulin held up by several people in the street. Subsequently, the empty street was later added into the image from another photo. When I first looked at this image, I assumed the obvious: some dedicated artist had chosen to document the end of his life in this way, and so turned his suicide into a final flourish, while a dedicated friend stood by, camera in hand, to capture the evidence. Under this interpretation, The Leap Into the Void seemed dramatic, impressive, and a little excessive. I felt as though this was the ultimate mark of the artist, to continue to create art even in the process of destroying himself. What seemed remarkable about its execution was the photographer’s capture; the way he seized just the right moment in the fall. So afterward, when I read a piece of back story that asserted Klein staged the entire affair and did not, in fact, kill himself, I felt slightly disappointed. I had wanted this to be the final bow, the real leap into the void. However, having had my interpretation proven wrong, I was more curious as to what his intentions were with the piece. After learning that the work was premeditated, I started to examine it more closely. I noticed that, indeed, it was too stylized to have been an accident. In the photo, Klein’s head is tilted up, and his arms are raised up to the sky in an almost-embrace. His back is unnaturally arched for someone taking a suicide leap, and his feet appear to be firmly attached to the wall. Though his lower half is mostly perpendicular to the ground, his upper half is tilted upwards, as if he were swimming in the air. What is most striking about this image, however, is how absolutely still it looks. Everything appears as if it were genuinely suspended in space – the man in the void and the man on the bicycle are both in the same immobilized state, set against a postcard Parisian-street backdrop. Generally, one would expect the documentation of a leap into the void to be reminiscent of a leap into a whirlpool; tumultuous, suggestive of motion at the very least. Not so in this work – Klein looks entirely suspended in air, framed on the right side by the man on the bicycle further down the road. At that point, I realized that by transferring my own ideas and expectations onto The Leap Into the Void, I had completely changed its meaning. I had wanted it to be an accident. I had wanted the photographer to happen to capture Klein in this exact pose, with his face turned upwards in that particular way, while the man on the bike just happened to be riding by. I wanted to read in it the possibility that, had Harry Shunk been a few seconds late with the capture, the image hanging before me would feature a graceless freefall instead, or a broken body bleeding out of a three-piece suit on the asphalt. Essentially, I was captivated by the idea of a randomly captured event that looked like it was supposed to mean something, but really meant nothing at all; something that looked premeditated, but was actually the graphic result of a conflux of elements in the right place at the right time, meshing together to create a concrete whole. As a literature student, I’ve been obsessed by meaning my entire academic life, and for some reason, I am strangely attracted to the absence of meaning; that is, to the idea that some things, underneath their fancy clothes, mean nothing at all. That is what I was hoping for in Klein’s work – I was hoping for an image that fooled the viewer by looking highly stylized and premeditated, all while being unplanned, unpolished, and raw. An image that was momentous because it was not intended to be.  However, after learning what Klein had in mind in the production of this piece, I began to appreciate the details that I had wanted to initially reject. As the so-called Painter of Space, Klein attempted to not only represent space, as in his monochromatic paintings, but to actually put himself in space. As such, The Leap Into the Void is one of the earliest examples of conceptual art, a form of art in which the concepts or ideas involved in a work of art take precedence over aesthetic goals. According to artist Sol LeWitt, “When an artist uses a conceptual form of art, it means that all of the planning and decisions are made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair.” Conceptual art, therefore, is art that tells more than it shows. Contrary to my initial slice-of-life-and-death interpretation, The Leap Into the Void represents a conscious effort, rather than an accident, of a man seeking to place himself inside the void rather than merely fall into it; to place himself in the Zen-consciousness in which worldly influences are removed, and the individual is left with his own sensibilities, his own reality. 

    When I visited the Menil Collection in Houston, Texas, I was particularly drawn to the work of Yves Klein in the Nouveau Realisme exhibition. Specifically, my attention was captured by Klein’s photomontage, The Leap Into the Void. The Leap Into the Void, which is one installment in a collection of works, features the painter throwing himself off the side of a building into space. The photo was first featured in Klein’s compilation, Dimanche, which took the form of a 4-page Sunday paper that was actually sold on Parisian newsstands for one day in November of 1960. It bore the caption “The painter of space throws himself into the void,” which was removed in later reprints, leaving the piece more ambiguous. The photomontage, for which Klein’s friend Harry Shunk is responsible, is comprised of a number of photos, all of which contribute to different elements present in the work. For example, what appears to be Klein vaulting himself chest first into empty space was created by him jumping onto a large tarpaulin held up by several people in the street. Subsequently, the empty street was later added into the image from another photo.

    When I first looked at this image, I assumed the obvious: some dedicated artist had chosen to document the end of his life in this way, and so turned his suicide into a final flourish, while a dedicated friend stood by, camera in hand, to capture the evidence. Under this interpretation, The Leap Into the Void seemed dramatic, impressive, and a little excessive. I felt as though this was the ultimate mark of the artist, to continue to create art even in the process of destroying himself. What seemed remarkable about its execution was the photographer’s capture; the way he seized just the right moment in the fall. So afterward, when I read a piece of back story that asserted Klein staged the entire affair and did not, in fact, kill himself, I felt slightly disappointed. I had wanted this to be the final bow, the real leap into the void. However, having had my interpretation proven wrong, I was more curious as to what his intentions were with the piece.

    After learning that the work was premeditated, I started to examine it more closely. I noticed that, indeed, it was too stylized to have been an accident. In the photo, Klein’s head is tilted up, and his arms are raised up to the sky in an almost-embrace. His back is unnaturally arched for someone taking a suicide leap, and his feet appear to be firmly attached to the wall. Though his lower half is mostly perpendicular to the ground, his upper half is tilted upwards, as if he were swimming in the air. What is most striking about this image, however, is how absolutely still it looks. Everything appears as if it were genuinely suspended in space – the man in the void and the man on the bicycle are both in the same immobilized state, set against a postcard Parisian-street backdrop. Generally, one would expect the documentation of a leap into the void to be reminiscent of a leap into a whirlpool; tumultuous, suggestive of motion at the very least. Not so in this work – Klein looks entirely suspended in air, framed on the right side by the man on the bicycle further down the road.

    At that point, I realized that by transferring my own ideas and expectations onto The Leap Into the Void, I had completely changed its meaning. I had wanted it to be an accident. I had wanted the photographer to happen to capture Klein in this exact pose, with his face turned upwards in that particular way, while the man on the bike just happened to be riding by. I wanted to read in it the possibility that, had Harry Shunk been a few seconds late with the capture, the image hanging before me would feature a graceless freefall instead, or a broken body bleeding out of a three-piece suit on the asphalt. Essentially, I was captivated by the idea of a randomly captured event that looked like it was supposed to mean something, but really meant nothing at all; something that looked premeditated, but was actually the graphic result of a conflux of elements in the right place at the right time, meshing together to create a concrete whole. As a literature student, I’ve been obsessed by meaning my entire academic life, and for some reason, I am strangely attracted to the absence of meaning; that is, to the idea that some things, underneath their fancy clothes, mean nothing at all. That is what I was hoping for in Klein’s work – I was hoping for an image that fooled the viewer by looking highly stylized and premeditated, all while being unplanned, unpolished, and raw. An image that was momentous because it was not intended to be. 

    However, after learning what Klein had in mind in the production of this piece, I began to appreciate the details that I had wanted to initially reject. As the so-called Painter of Space, Klein attempted to not only represent space, as in his monochromatic paintings, but to actually put himself in space. As such, The Leap Into the Void is one of the earliest examples of conceptual art, a form of art in which the concepts or ideas involved in a work of art take precedence over aesthetic goals. According to artist Sol LeWitt, “When an artist uses a conceptual form of art, it means that all of the planning and decisions are made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair.” Conceptual art, therefore, is art that tells more than it shows. Contrary to my initial slice-of-life-and-death interpretation, The Leap Into the Void represents a conscious effort, rather than an accident, of a man seeking to place himself inside the void rather than merely fall into it; to place himself in the Zen-consciousness in which worldly influences are removed, and the individual is left with his own sensibilities, his own reality. 

  8. I don’t get “body” hangovers so much as “mind” hangovers anymore

    In that I feel physically fine the next day, only super depressed and like my life is a rapidly expanding giant black hole.

  9. As much as I hate “GAHH I LUV MY FRIENDS!” posts, seriously, my friends are the fucking best. Cure for worst week possible: a beyond-adorable Żubrówka jacket and about 50 vegan peanut butter cookies from Everlasting Life Cafe in DC, generously overnighted by jamiesondc12.

    As much as I hate “GAHH I LUV MY FRIENDS!” posts, seriously, my friends are the fucking best.

    Cure for worst week possible: a beyond-adorable Żubrówka jacket and about 50 vegan peanut butter cookies from Everlasting Life Cafe in DC, generously overnighted by jamiesondc12.

  10. 25 May 2012

    38,752 notes

    Reblogged from
    m0su

    punkrockmermaid: “I’m not ashamed to dress ‘like a woman’ because I don’t think it’s shameful to be a woman.” - Iggy Pop Iggy Pop is such a bad ass. There’s an interview I watched where his manager talked about having to bail him out of jail. The manager shows up and Iggy is drunk, disorderly, and wearing a dress. His manager asked “Ig, why are you wearing a woman’s dress?” and Iggy replied “I beg to differ, this is a man’s dress.” It’s like Eddie Izzard says - ‘They’re not women’s clothes. They’re my clothes. I bought them.’

    punkrockmermaid:

    “I’m not ashamed to dress ‘like a woman’ because I don’t think it’s shameful to be a woman.” - Iggy Pop

    Iggy Pop is such a bad ass. There’s an interview I watched where his manager talked about having to bail him out of jail. The manager shows up and Iggy is drunk, disorderly, and wearing a dress. His manager asked “Ig, why are you wearing a woman’s dress?” and Iggy replied “I beg to differ, this is a man’s dress.”

    It’s like Eddie Izzard says - ‘They’re not women’s clothes. They’re my clothes. I bought them.’

    (Source: m0su)