I have no business being here.



David Bowie.

He even emotes like a badass motherfucker. 

Always reblog Lynch.


The Piano (1993) dir. Jane Campion

(via zomgmouse)


André Kertész      Chair with French Horn      1927

(via saintguadalupe)

We boil at different degrees.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (via likeafieldmouse)
Thank goodness for that.

Thank goodness for that.


There’s only one proper way to wear a baseball uniform.

There’s only one proper way to wear a baseball uniform.

(via whiskeypaper)


Gustav Klimt. The Park. 1910 or earlier.


Jim Jarmusch

(via heckyesjimjarmusch)

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Eating Poetry, by Mark Strand

Against all odds, I remain hopeful.


Glasgow School of Art glass plate negative showing students in costume. Early 1900’s

Hello, nightmare.

(via stuffthatmakesmeuncomfortable)