(via sullenmoons)



Jenny Holzer

(via berlin1991)


(via sludgemetalprincess)


(via berlin1991)

(via uhmends)



life hack: if you flip the food pyramid around there’s a little compartment for cigarettes

(via berlin1991)


Peter Fischli & David Weiss, ‘Will Happiness Find Me?’, 1999

(via under-azoth)



Model at Ulyana Sergeenko Haute Couture Fall/Winter 2013

reminds me of chekhov plays

(via sullenmoons)



”The best way to get to know a city is to count up how much change you have in your pocket and take the subway as far as that amount gets you.” David Bowie on traveling in Japan

(via pyrrhics)

The only thing inherent about human behavior is choice.


Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.

Henry Miller, Sexus (via colporteur)

(via commovente)


(via sadscully)

(via 90s90s90s)


SPACE v3 by Me (Truangles)

more of my art here and prints available here

(via truangles)

Looking at my reflection too much.
Sitting in the back seat of the
car and gazing at myself
in the rear view mirror.
My dad tells me that I look fine
and to stop staring at myself
while he’s driving.

I reapply my lipstick, watch myself
do it in the black
screen of my iPhone.
Someone on this bus thinks I’m
the most conceited person who has
ever lived.

I bite my lips while my professor
is talking,
imagine giving him a handjob during
his office hours while he tells
me how pretty I am.
I’m in the reflection of his glasses,
of the laptop on his desk, of the
shiny gold band around his finger.
He’s not even looking.

A funhouse mirror.
My body a lava lamp of ugly shapes.
Everyone laughs at the one that
makes their stomachs stretch.
I laugh at the one that makes me
look like a lamp post.
The stranger next to me has hair
down to her hips and I can’t
see anything except for her earth body
and my little streetlight one.

We turn away from the
mirror and I snap back into
the globe of myself, thinking
‘Who could hold the whole world?
Who would even want to?’

I’d let her touch me, if she asked.
I’d live in the funhouse
if it meant I could be small
enough for her to wrap her arms

Her eyes, mirrors.
I’m a panoramic
in the gloss of them.

She’s looking right at me.

Caitlyn Siehl, Mirrors (via alonesomes)

(via alonesomes)