j-mison:

pi3rcethe-satans:

allonsymiddleearth:

brennanat:

You know how people buy drinks for girls in bars? Why can’t people do that in book stores? Like if I’m looking at a novel in Barnes and Noble and some person walks up to me and strikes up a conversation and offers to buy the book for me there is a lot better chance of that working out in their favor

I’m going to reblog this until it’s a cultural norm.

Lets do it

wtf yes

i’m in

i hate that my brain has been fooled into thinking everything arranged in this way is beautiful, but i do really think this is beautiful.

i hate that my brain has been fooled into thinking everything arranged in this way is beautiful, but i do really think this is beautiful.

(Source: dolce-far-niente-97)

gaksdesigns:

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Photographer Ken Griffiths for The Sunday Times (1973) (via

nythroughthelens:

New York City - Snow at Night - Hercules

View these photos (and more) of the first snow of 2014 in NYC also known as Hercules (click on each photo in the set to enlarge):

New York City Hercules: First Snowstorm of 2014

zbzb:

BUTLER 2014
Decade Project: Year Three.
"The Decade Project is a ten-year-long celebration of analog photography in the age of the iPhone. It is an answer to the ubiquity of the digital image, the disposable nature of image making in the social space, and the frivolousness of the word ‘photographer’ in the present day."
To be photographed, email butlers.decade@gmail.com
(Some reference, in case you’re curious.)

zbzb:

BUTLER 2014

Decade Project: Year Three.

"The Decade Project is a ten-year-long celebration of analog photography in the age of the iPhone. It is an answer to the ubiquity of the digital image, the disposable nature of image making in the social space, and the frivolousness of the word ‘photographer’ in the present day."

To be photographed, email butlers.decade@gmail.com

(Some reference, in case you’re curious.)

talk is cheap because do is expensive

holy craaaaaap

okay, I’m finally feeling something! swarms of butterflies in my belly. phew. what a sensation! HERE GOES NOTHING

the time has come!

i embark on my adventure tomorrow. first stop Seattle via bus. long flight (layover in Philadelphia) to Barcelona. long layover in the city. another plane, another bus, then i arrive at my home for the next month : Marbella, Spain. it still has yet to sink in. my belongings have yet to be packed, though they’re organized neatly, waiting to nestle in to my suitcase. my thoughts are another story, though. those scoundrels have tucked themselves away into some nook of my brain that i can’t reach. i don’t feel anything right now. i haven’t for the past couple weeks. i assume i’m supposed to feel fear. or excitement. but i don’t feel a single thing. i hope this lack of feeling doesn’t manifest itself into a meltdown at the airport. ah! that would make for a funny story, though.

who knows what will happen? the freedom to expect nothing or everything or both may be why i’m absent of emotions. the calm is kind of nice.

No Great Illusion: At Last

nogreatillusion:

Ben makes hash in his cast iron skillet - potatoes and bacon and onions, and I can smell it cooking from the bedroom. I pad into the kitchen in my bare feet and button down shirt, make toast and spread it with caramel apple butter. I garnish our plates with fresh strawberries and pour us pineapple-orange mimosas. We eat on the sofa with our legs curled underneath us.

If you were to peer into our lives with the strongest set of binoculars and a polaroid camera, these are the snapshots you would keep, the things that stick: Ben coming home with yellow lilies in hand, the way he steals the coconut shampoo suds from my hair and rubs it into his own, how we make the bed together, tucking in the sheets just so, tackling the changing of the duvet cover as a team.

He has been teaching me patience with myself. I have been teaching him patience with inanimate objects. We study the shelves in Manhattan bookstores. We hum along with the ice cream truck’s tinkling song. We watch the police lights on the ceiling at night. We point out the best dogs on the street. He lifts my laundry bag - the one I used to drag on a cumbersome cart - with one arm. With the other, he holds my hand.

The sidewalks of Brooklyn are lined with white flowering trees that smell like old semen. This, too, is lovely and funny and ridiculous, like us. “We have a dream life,” Ben says to me. And I say, with all sincerity, “Yeah, we do.”

love it, love this.