"That’s the one trouble…" How fitting

Timestamp: 1413745463

"That’s the one trouble…" How fitting

preposition:

iwontexplainit:

Kill Bill Vol.1 - Soundtrack

YESSSS

:o

(Source: killbilled, via creativeconvergency)

Timestamp: 1413684792

preposition:

iwontexplainit:

Kill Bill Vol.1 - Soundtrack

YESSSS

:o

(Source: killbilled, via creativeconvergency)

salvadordali-art:

Fancy Costumes, 1956

Salvador Dali

(via creativeconvergency)

Timestamp: 1413684744

salvadordali-art:

Fancy Costumes, 1956

Salvador Dali

(via creativeconvergency)

odditiesoflife:

Guillermo Del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities

In the new book Cabinet of Curiosities (out now via Harper), visionary director and filmmaker of Pan’s Labyrinth, Hellboy and Pacific Rim, Guillermo Del Toro presents — according to the volume’s subtitle — “My Notebooks, Collections, and Other Obsessions.” In other words, the books offers the rare opportunity for an all-access peek into the working methods of the acclaimed movie maker. The lavishly illustrated coffee-table book pulls from Del Toro’s notebooks, drawings, journals, behind-the-scenes photos, and more.

(Source: flavorwire.com, via toastradamus)

Timestamp: 1413684536

odditiesoflife:

Guillermo Del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities

In the new book Cabinet of Curiosities (out now via Harper), visionary director and filmmaker of Pan’s Labyrinth, Hellboy and Pacific Rim, Guillermo Del Toro presents — according to the volume’s subtitle — “My Notebooks, Collections, and Other Obsessions.” In other words, the books offers the rare opportunity for an all-access peek into the working methods of the acclaimed movie maker. The lavishly illustrated coffee-table book pulls from Del Toro’s notebooks, drawings, journals, behind-the-scenes photos, and more.

(Source: flavorwire.com, via toastradamus)

sylviaplathink:

via http://catskas.tumblr.com/

ELM

I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.

Is it the sea you hear in me,
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?

Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it.
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.

All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,
Echoing, echoing.

Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
This is rain now, the big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires.

Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radience scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.

I let her go. I let her go
Diminshed and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrevables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?

I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches?—

Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.

—written 19 April 1962

Timestamp: 1413574599

sylviaplathink:

via http://catskas.tumblr.com/

ELM

I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;
It is what you fear.
I do not fear it: I have been there.

Is it the sea you hear in me,
Its dissatisfactions?
Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?

Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it.
Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.

All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,
Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,
Echoing, echoing.

Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
This is rain now, the big hush.
And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
Scorched to the root
My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires.

Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
A wind of such violence
Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
Cruelly, being barren.
Her radience scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.

I let her go. I let her go
Diminshed and flat, as after radical surgery.
How your bad dreams possess and endow me.

I am inhabited by a cry.
Nightly it flaps out
Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse.
Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrevables?
Is it for such I agitate my heart?

I am incapable of more knowledge.
What is this, this face
So murderous in its strangle of branches?—

Its snaky acids kiss.
It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
That kill, that kill, that kill.

—written 19 April 1962

2dots:

klemt:

Nowhere

Encre de Chine

70x100 cm

Love this :)

(via creativeconvergency)

Timestamp: 1413573485

2dots:

klemt:

Nowhere

Encre de Chine

70x100 cm

Love this :)

(via creativeconvergency)

Mug shots from last night

Timestamp: 1413565546

Mug shots from last night