A special bucket for all my brain vomit...

 

Sometimes random thoughts come to me and most of it is rubbish but sometimes there is something there....

 

Reykjavik Sex Farm is my main reposityory ofr words and anger.

21st September 2014

Photo with 1 note

My Kinda people….

My Kinda people….

21st September 2014

Photo reblogged from hauntology & desire with 17 notes

15th September 2014

Photo reblogged from Stuff and things with 72,961 notes

zephyres:

がしゃどくろ

zephyres:

がしゃどくろ

Source: pixiv.net

15th September 2014

Photo

Filthy….

Filthy….

13th September 2014

Photo reblogged from From theory, action. with 120 notes

Source: morbid-eleganza

12th September 2014

Photo reblogged from Ales Kot with 1,307 notes

fifidunks:


Obsession was lust. Youth. The unattainable. Kate Moss’ elastic skin against cracked stone. Classical bodies cut off mid-limb at the ad page’s edge (Vogue’s Venus di Milos). Also, all the big Os: orgasms, orgies, and oculi; eyes, eye-round breasts, and, in turn, Bruce Weber and Mario Sorrenti’s lenses. The fragrance’s serif label was often paired with the fine subtext “for men.” On the television spots, a woman’s voice whispered, “Between love and madness lies obsession.” The smell was “sensual, woody.” The bottle—a redacted teardrop or short pool. Where there was water, this scent was always shallow. Shallow like a lake from which Kate’s face surfaced, or a Roman bath from which Gemma Ward’s sweet teen bottom buoyed. 

And on and more…

fifidunks:

Obsession was lust. Youth. The unattainable. Kate Moss’ elastic skin against cracked stone. Classical bodies cut off mid-limb at the ad page’s edge (Vogue’s Venus di Milos). Also, all the big Os: orgasms, orgies, and oculi; eyes, eye-round breasts, and, in turn, Bruce Weber and Mario Sorrenti’s lenses. The fragrance’s serif label was often paired with the fine subtext “for men.” On the television spots, a woman’s voice whispered, “Between love and madness lies obsession.” The smell was “sensual, woody.” The bottle—a redacted teardrop or short pool. Where there was water, this scent was always shallow. Shallow like a lake from which Kate’s face surfaced, or a Roman bath from which Gemma Ward’s sweet teen bottom buoyed. 

And on and more…

Source: artistsspace

9th September 2014

Photo reblogged from From theory, action. with 17,025 notes

Source: neverstopthevortex

28th August 2014

Photo reblogged from From theory, action. with 10,251 notes

Source: rolliems

28th August 2014

Video reblogged from Uncle Whisky with 34 notes

unclewhisky:

A Whitechaplain is dead, and the whole world is emptier for it, even though most don’t know it.

I know this won’t mean much to most of you guys. The long and short of it is, a friend from the first place on the internet I ever felt at home has died recently. I’m not sure what the official C of D will be listed as, but it was heroin addiction that killed him. Addiction and a bastard world that didn’t deserve him, and rarely appreciated him.

A friend of his says that this song was among his favorites.

So, here’s to you, Flecky. To borrow a phrase from Dr. Thompson, he was one of God’s own prototypes. Too weird to live, too rare to die. Sleep well, man.

I knew this guy from Whitechapel. It sucks that he’s gone

18th August 2014

Photo with 1 note