61 notes   -  25 September 2013


Stonewall Riots, June 28, 1969 (and following days)

One night last year, after discussing ‘A Room With A View’ in a seminar, I spent hours reading articles new and old alike concerning the Stonewall Riots and its subsequent aftermath, and I really have to say that this is where history’s at. The 60’s, especially the latter half, quite literally changed everything socially. It was a time where the straw broke the camel’s back, and houses some of the most memorable and courageous individuals to be (or to not be) recognised in our time. We have so much to be thankful for.

41,409 notes   -  5 August 2013

williams-blood:

tokyoefferata:

Tokyo, 1981
Ed van der Elsken

Of the potentially hundreds of shots taken in a day, there are only ever a few that really stand out to me. It’s not the composition, framing or content that grabs me per se but, rather, this indefinable atmosphere that rarely reveals itself and can only be seen in a spur-of-the-moment shot with little premeditation or conscious effort. This is the kind of moment I live for when I’m shooting. It can’t be instructed, it can’t be posed, it can’t be sought; it can only be glimpsed.

I am definitely only an amateur photographer, but my parents were professionals and taught me the value of taking multitudes of photographs, more than you would ever use or save… because that elusive moment just might be hidden amongst them. There is no greater feeling than seeing that moment through the viewfinder just as the shutter clicks, reviewing your shots at the end of the day, and being rewarded with pure wonder.

Yeah. Photography can be satisfying as shit, mate.

My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen. :)


sequentialsmart:

The history of comics in six panels by Matt Madden.  


You see, that’s why I really work like a dog, and I worked like a dog all my life. I am not interested in the academic status of what I am doing because my problem is my own transformation … This transformation of one’s self by one’s own knowledge is, I think, something rather close to the aesthetic experience. Why should a painter work if he is not transformed by his own painting? Foucault 
284 notes   -  11 February 2013


mechbeth:

This is phenomenal definitely worth a watch.

Music is lifeblood folks. 

If this doesn’t melt your heart into a gooey paste, I’m not too sure what will. Music, Art and the Written Word are the Holy Trinity of life, and this video really does show you just how fundamental music is. It’s just… I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s the purest kind of beauty.

I mean, fuck. A man who is usually mute is able to sing. Simply due to listening to an iPod for a while. 

27 notes   -  11 April 2012

My outlook on willingness regarding relationships has completely turned upon itself within the past month or so.

I used to have this notion that I wanted to become the best possible being I could potentially be before I entered anything serious. I wanted to grow as my own person without having dependence on another or vice versa. Recently though it’s struck me… Why? 

I know for a good for nothing fact that a time where I am wholly satisfied with myself ceases to exist. I will forever thirst for knowledge, yearn for cultural expansion and will never stop the enduring, ravaging battle of physical improvement. Why shut off such a potentially wonderful thing as partnership with as pathetic an excuse as “I want to fulfil my own needs before I let another in.” Why not open the possibility of a person who I can connect with at this tangible and philosophical and emotional level? Surely that prospect opens up a whole range of fantastic and interesting doors for the broadening of my own development as a person?

It really is queer how a personal philosophy that I have cherished and abided by like some ritualistic dogma for years has all of a sudden cascaded down. Might be due to the fact that I don’t care much for people at my college and am longing for a mutual, human connection.

The ponderings of youth.

4 notes   -  2 April 2012

Great art has dreadful manners. The greatest paintings grab you in a headlock, rough up your composure, and then proceed in short order to re-arrange your reality. Simon Schama
11 notes   -  28 March 2012

24
My cat died this morning. I’ve had him for almost fifteen years. In all my life, I have never loved anything more. Last night it happened. We called the vets and took him there. This morning they say he had suffered a blood clot which had caused an aneurysm and disabled him from the middle down. I watched him have that aneurysm. He was sat there, and began vigorously shaking his head.
He’s been there every single day and has been a form of comfort through every tribulation. I don’t know what to do. I am breaking down all the time. Everything here is him. He follows me around the house. If I’m working, I put my cup of water on the floor because it leaks and I don’t wish to stain the coffee table, and he comes and sticks his snozz in there and tries to drink. His claws are longer than they ought to be, and with our floors, I can hear this little pitter patter whenever he’s walking around. He tries to sit on my lap whilst I’m on the laptop and can’t comprehend why it can’t work out, so I prop my legs on the table and he sleeps on my knees. He follows me into the bathroom when I go for a whizz, and I run him a glass of water to drink. He has slept on my bed every single night for as long as I can remember. He wakes me up by snuggling his face against mine. He hardly ever meows. He purrs, never meows. He howled so much last night though when he couldn’t move his back legs. He was dragging himself across the floor, across the bed, across my lap trying to move. His heart was racing. He was panting. He couldn’t move his legs. I really don’t know what I can do. He’s everywhere. My head is throbbing with a pulsating headache. I just thought I heard him walking, but it’s the pipes. He’s not here. 
I keep attempting to distract myself. Routine. Routine. Watch T.V. Do work. Draw. Go on Tumblr and scroll for as long as you can without being reminded. It’s like a parasitic cancer has taken me over. I have buried all my grandparents and many pets previous, but nothing could have prepared me for this. I, fuck, I don’t know what to do. He’s not here… What do I do? Somebody tell me what to do? Please?

My cat died this morning. I’ve had him for almost fifteen years. In all my life, I have never loved anything more. Last night it happened. We called the vets and took him there. This morning they say he had suffered a blood clot which had caused an aneurysm and disabled him from the middle down. I watched him have that aneurysm. He was sat there, and began vigorously shaking his head.

He’s been there every single day and has been a form of comfort through every tribulation. I don’t know what to do. I am breaking down all the time. Everything here is him. He follows me around the house. If I’m working, I put my cup of water on the floor because it leaks and I don’t wish to stain the coffee table, and he comes and sticks his snozz in there and tries to drink. His claws are longer than they ought to be, and with our floors, I can hear this little pitter patter whenever he’s walking around. He tries to sit on my lap whilst I’m on the laptop and can’t comprehend why it can’t work out, so I prop my legs on the table and he sleeps on my knees. He follows me into the bathroom when I go for a whizz, and I run him a glass of water to drink. He has slept on my bed every single night for as long as I can remember. He wakes me up by snuggling his face against mine. He hardly ever meows. He purrs, never meows. He howled so much last night though when he couldn’t move his back legs. He was dragging himself across the floor, across the bed, across my lap trying to move. His heart was racing. He was panting. He couldn’t move his legs. I really don’t know what I can do. He’s everywhere. My head is throbbing with a pulsating headache. I just thought I heard him walking, but it’s the pipes. He’s not here. 

I keep attempting to distract myself. Routine. Routine. Watch T.V. Do work. Draw. Go on Tumblr and scroll for as long as you can without being reminded. It’s like a parasitic cancer has taken me over. I have buried all my grandparents and many pets previous, but nothing could have prepared me for this. I, fuck, I don’t know what to do. He’s not here… What do I do? Somebody tell me what to do? Please?