The Latest

Sep 20, 2014 / 6 notes
Sep 20, 2014

Tigran Hamasyan Vardavar live in the mountains 2013

firsttimeuser:

Mountains of the Middle Kingdom
Sep 20, 2014 / 31 notes
Sep 19, 2014 / 127 notes

echoclinic:

the piano is a hell of an instrument…

Sep 18, 2014 / 557 notes
blastedheath:

Nja Mahdaoui (Tunisian, b. 1937), Untitled, c.1982. Indian ink and gold paint on vellum, 100 x 70.5 cm.
Sep 18, 2014 / 377 notes

blastedheath:

Nja Mahdaoui (Tunisian, b. 1937), Untitled, c.1982. Indian ink and gold paint on vellum, 100 x 70.5 cm.

androphilia:

Graphemes By Nja Mahdaoui, 2009
Sep 18, 2014 / 36 notes
Sep 18, 2014 / 1,279 notes

hifructosemag:

English artist Chris Wood creates glass wall-panels that showcase maze-like structures that give the illusion of depth and brilliance through the glass’ interaction with natural and artificial light sources. The artist’s usage of small, reflective, dichroic (meaning “two color”) pieces of glass lets her easily create complex patterns of light and shade; the colors and textures that derive from these structures change in accordance to the position of the viewer and the angle of the light source, making her work an ever-changing, almost magical and intriguing phenomenon. Read more on Hi-Fructose.

Sep 18, 2014

“Her. Her. Her. Future breezes implore
me to stay.
But I’m no future. I’m no past.
Only ever contemporary of this path.
I’ll sacrifice everything
for all her seasons give from losing.
She, I sigh
from The Mountain top.
By her now. My only role. And for that freedom,
spread my polar chill, reaching even the warmest times,
a warning upon the back of every life
that would by harming Hailey’s play, ever wayward
around this vegetative rush of orbit & twine,
awaken among these cascading cliffs of bellicose ice

me.
And my Vengeance.
At once.
The Justice of my awful loss
set free upon this crowded land. An old terror
violent for the glee of
ends.
But to those who would tend her, harrowed
by such Beauty & Fleeting Presence to do more,
my cool cries will kiss their gentle foreheads
and my tears will kiss their tender cheeks,
and then if the Love of their Kindness, which only
Kindness ever finds, spills my ear, for a while I might
slip down and play amidst her canopies of gold.

Solitude. Hailey’s bare feet.
And all her patience now assumes.
Garland of Spring’s Sacred Bloom.
By you, ever sixteen, this World’s preserved.
By you, this World has everything left to lose.
And I, your sentry of ice, shall allways protect
what your Joy so dangerously resumes.
I’ll destroy no World
so long it keeps turning with flurry & gush,
petals & stems bending and lush,
and allways our hushes returning anew.
Everyone betrays the Dream
but who cares for it? O Hailey no,
I could never walk away from you.

-

Haloes! Haleskarth!
Contraband!
I can walk away
from anything.
Everyone loves
the Dream but I kill it.
Bald Eagles soar
over me: —Reveille Rebel!
I jump free this weel.
On fire. Blaze a breeze.
I’ll devastate the World.

\

Samsara! Samarra!
Grand!
I can walk away
from anything.
Everyone loves
the Dream but I kill it.
Atlas Mountain Cedars gush
over me: —Up Boogaloo!
I leap free this spring.
On fire. How my hair curls.
I’ll destroy the World.

-

Him. Him. Him. Future winds imploring
me to stay.
But I’m no tomorrow. I’m no yesterday.
Only ever contemporary of this way.
I will sacrifice everything
for all his seasons miss of soaring.
He, I sigh
from The Mountain top.
By him now. My only role. And for that freedom,
spread my polar chill, reaching even the warmest climes,
a warning upon the back of every life
that would by harming Sam’s play, ever wayward
around this animal streak of orbit & wind,
awaken among these cataracts of belligerent ice

me.
And my Justice.
At once.
The Vengeance of my awful loss set
free upon this crowded land. An old terror
violent for the delirium of
ends.
But to those who would protect him, frightened
by such Beauty & Savage Presence to do more,
my cool cries will kiss their tender foreheads
and my tears will kiss their gentle cheeks,
and then if the Kindness of their Love, which only
Loving ever binds, spills my ear, for a while I might
slip down and play among his foals so green.

My barrenness. Sam’s solitude.
And all his patience now presumes. 
Luster of Spring’s Sacred Brood.
By you, ever sixteen, this World’s reserved.
By you, this World has everything left to lose.
And I, your sentry of ice, shall allways protect
what your Joy so terrifyingly elects.
I’ll destroy no World
so long it keeps turning with scurry & blush,
fledgling & charms beading with dews,
and allways our rush returning renewed.
Everyone betrays the Dream
but who cares for it? O Sam no,
I could never walk away from you.” 
― Mark Z. DanielewskiOnly Revolutions

thegoodfilms:

Marlon Brando before and after makeup on the set of The Godfather
Sep 18, 2014 / 11,802 notes

thegoodfilms:

Marlon Brando before and after makeup on the set of The Godfather

(via rottentomatoes)