golden blue

Paris-based artist
loganjacksonphoto:

DARK COLD HOTEL ROOM
GODDESS Spring 2015 look book

loganjacksonphoto:

DARK COLD HOTEL ROOM

GODDESS Spring 2015 look book

Anonymous asked: A little baby elephant stumbles into your askbox, holding a small letter in his mouth. He hands the note to you, “I love you. You are a wonderful, loved person." Pass it on to the first ten people on your dash anonymously

hi little baby elephant

ajal:

The Scent of Green Papaya (Tran Anh Hung, 1993)

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter — the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these three trembling cities the greatest is the last — the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high-strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness; natives give it solidity and continuity; but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from Italy to set up a small grocery store in slum, or a young girl arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh eyes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company.

— E.B. White, from “Here is New York”

jointhereformation:

DIANA ROSS, STUDIO 54

jointhereformation:

DIANA ROSS, STUDIO 54

20aliens:

Thomas Prior

20aliens:

Thomas Prior

hazelcills:

I don’t understand why it’s so hard to explain to boys that they can not be jokingly misogynist. It’s still the same, there’s nothing about you that makes you an exception. It’s not your place to say sexist shit and then try to make it a joke. 

Splendor in the grass, 1961

parkerwoods:

dissolveStevie by Parker Woods
maryjopeace:

HARLEY WEIR | BARON MAGAZINE | ISSUE 3

maryjopeace:

HARLEY WEIR | BARON MAGAZINE | ISSUE 3

holy shit a little boy just made a disgusting sign with his hand for me ~~~no details necessary~~ behind his mom back so i walked to his mom and then he ran like a maniac. his mom wasnt fooling around tho he’s probably getting a few spankz

holy shit a little boy just made a disgusting sign with his hand for me ~~~no details necessary~~ behind his mom back so i walked to his mom and then he ran like a maniac. his mom wasnt fooling around tho he’s probably getting a few spankz