It’s a dangerous business going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.


I got two hands, one beating heart, 
And I’ll be alright


Daniel Radcliffe at the Paris premiere of Horns x

  • partner: you be the teacher ill be the student ;)
  • me: okay
  • me: write an essay on whether theatre architecture of a particular period always reflects that period's culture. i want it on my desk by monday
  • partner: oh no but... thats such a hard essay... is there anything i can do for extra credit? ;)
  • me: no
  • partner: but professor.... surely then i could... persuade you to extend the deadline...? ;)
  • me: no
  • partner: so... what do you want, professor?? ;)))
  • me: an essay on whether theatre architecture of a particular period always reflects that period's culture. on my desk. by monday
posted 1 week ago via 27kb (© lcumo) with 503 notes

Italy + Water  x


Maurice Sapiro aka Maurice L. Sapiro (b. 1932, NJ, USA) - Moonglow, 2014    Paintings: Oil

"I don’t know why people are so reluctant to say they’re feminists. Could it be any more obvious that we still live in a patriarchal world when feminism is a bad word?"



There is nothing pure about being a god. There is nothing holy;
purity is an illusion created by the mouths of children and you,
you are proof of that.

You are not malicious, you are not as cruel as they are;
(they allowed you into Olympus like someone lets a court gesture into
a kingdom; entertainment, for sport, look but never, ever touch)
The blood stained on you is poured on out of good spirit, of festival and celebration.
Whether this celebration is in war is not your concern, just the art of it.


You are not an angel, you are an artist;
Your medium is soaked in chaos and ecstasy, debauchery, they call it
(the matters which do not make man into supplicants, the colors and the lights
that make them feel alive even when their lives are a blink,
that which makes Who Is Like God; debaucherous?


You breathe glitter and dust and where dryads have their afflictions
you have yours;
of fire, and of wisdom, and of magic,
forming in man the sense that they are not owned by anyone;
the sense that makes you last worshiped: with wine, dripping from your fingertips.


You are not an angel, you are an artist; and artists are brutal and they are relentless.
Artists will put life in their work to suck out again into them,
into something immeasurable, something unbearable and purer than purity could ever be.

- not to think mortal thoughts {g.s.} (via punkwarren)
posted 1 week ago via punkwarren with 96 notes

One Michelin star is good. Two is amazing. Three is only for the gods. –– (for kïan

posted 1 week ago via qarins with 772 notes