Dont Fret says your Options include joining Army, becoming your father, being a conceptual artist, dying alone in woods.
from brooklyntheory:

Options, Bushwick, Brooklyn



Hearst Castle by Julia Morgan

The indoor mosaic-tiled pool is inspired by Roman baths.


I know people,
both angels
and demons,
who are present
and wish
to help me
or kill me;
I just sigh
and turn
the music louder;
in my life
will ever change
until I’m here
for myself.

Help Yourself - j.b. (via youshouldacceptchaos)



when her relationship flop and she back on the market

I just really like this gif

Whatever you now find weird, ugly, uncomfortable and nasty about a new medium will surely become its signature. CD distortion, the jitteriness of digital video, the crap sound of 8-bit - all of these will be cherished and emulated as soon as they can be avoided. It’s the sound of failure: so much modern art is the sound of things going out of control, of a medium pushing to its limits and breaking apart. The distorted guitar sound is the sound of something too loud for the medium supposed to carry it. The blues singer with the cracked voice is the sound of an emotional cry too powerful for the throat that releases it. The excitement of grainy film, of bleached-out black and white, is the excitement of witnessing events too momentous for the medium assigned to record them.
Brian Eno, A Year With Swollen Appendices (via experiencinghumanity)

Omgfuckyes. This is so yes.

(Source: volumexii)

As you get older you give up doing all the things you did “just hoping” something magical would happen, because you hit your limit of times you can be disappointed. But the things you do “just hoping” are the magical moments, and if you stop doing them, you’re not saving yourself from anything, you’re just making a commitment to disappointment.

- Drunk me.




Before the availability of the tape recorder and during the 1950s, when vinyl was scarce, people in the Soviet Union began making records of banned Western music on discarded x-rays. With the help of a special device, banned bootlegged jazz and rock ‘n’ roll records were “pressed” on thick radiographs salvaged from hospital waste bins and then cut into discs of 23-25 centimeters in diameter. “They would cut the X-ray into a crude circle with manicure scissors and use a cigarette to burn a hole,” says author Anya von Bremzen. “You’d have Elvis on the lungs, Duke Ellington on Aunt Masha’s brain scan — forbidden Western music captured on the interiors of Soviet citizens.”

I want one

I own a Duke Ellington vinyl, but I would much rather it on X-ray.