I have no business being here.


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)

The Graduate (Mike Nichols, 1967)

The look on her face says it all.

The Graduate (Mike Nichols, 1967)

The look on her face says it all.


Pablo Picasso - A Simple Meal (1904)

A Tribute to Discomfort

Cory Richards, photographer


I’m looking through you.

En garde.

Impossibly beautiful, the two of ‘em.

I have so much I want to tell you, and nowhere to begin.

the Salinger (via nevver)

More than likely.

(via nevver)


Where boys go to die

Painfully true.

You’ll always be in my heart too, Willem.


Steve Martin. Unknown Photographer.

Hello, sailor.