They used to tank cod from Alaska all the way to China. They’d keep them in vats in the ship. By the time the codfish reached China the flesh was mush and tasteless. So this guy came up with this idea that if you put these cods in these big vats, put some catfish in with them. And the catfish would keep the cod agile. And there are those people who are catfish in life. They keep you on your toes. They keep you guessin’. They keep you thinkin’. They keep you fresh. And I thank God for the catfish, because we would be dull and boring if we didn’t have somebody nipping at our fin.

The Post-Internship Itinerary

1. Geneva

2. Rome

3. Dubrovnik

4. Paris

5. Montreal

6. Home

toska

via thedownsideofbeingawallflower

it all exists

I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?

The Virgin Suicides

Tame Impala - Solitude is Bliss

reading braidotti for pleasure: what has law school done to me?

"The definition of a person's identity takes place in between nature-technology, male-female, black-white, in the spaces that flow and connect in between. We live in permanent processes of transition, hybridization and nomadization, and these in between states and stages defy the established modes of theoretical representation."

alone with everybody

the flesh covers the bone

and they put a mind

in there and

sometimes a soul,

and the women break

vases against the walls

and the men drink too

much

and nobody finds the

one

but keep

looking

crawling in and out

of beds.

flesh covers

the bone and the

flesh searches

for more than

flesh.

thomas van der zaag

via there was rain

Via This is NOT New

Reading Marita

Marita

Please find me

I am almost 30.

-Leonard Cohen

Cohen etched this poem on the wall of a restaurant in Cyprus during the late 1950's. He wrote it in response to a woman who had rebuffed his advances several years prior by telling him to "come back when you're 30". Cohen was punctuating this awkward late 20s phase - he was stuck between his adolescence and maturity, scrawling his life on a wall.

Via Ulrich Museum of Art

Oh, how we ascribe our own meaning.

Genève

All my fantasies about my upcoming summer distilled in a single photograph:

via Tofs Stefano

I think of you in colours that don't exist.

Hell's Angels

"All my life, my heart has sought a thing it cannot name.

Remembered line from a long-

forgotten poem."

such an earth that has no maps

"We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden as if caves. I wish for all of this to be marked on my body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography - to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience. All I desired was to walk upon such an earth that had no maps."

The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje (source: milk-eyed-mender via youngteam)

No but seriously, I'm in love.

Springsteen ❤

It's been nearly 25 years and I still can't get enough Springsteen.

local natives: who knows who cares

via laBlogotheque

via le smoking

Gendered oppression exists on a spectrum. On one end: make-me-a-sandwich jokes. On the other: rape. All rest on the assumption that women ought to be passive objects existing to satiate male desire. Assertions like this might have me dismissed as hyperbolic and uptight, but fuck it. When 1 in 4 women have already been the victim of sexual assault by the time they enter their second year of university, maybe people dismissing my supposed hyperbole should actually give it some thought. Maybe gendered oppression is. actually. real. And maybe we ought to be a little more introspective about the role we're each playing in perpetuating it.

But I'll bet you a sandwich that no one will even comment on this post.

In Memoriam

Currently Reading

and holy shit, it's dark.

James Blake - The Wilhelm Scream

Help! Help! I'm Being Repressed!

Non-Stop (1958) by Brian Aldiss

"The teaching warned him that his mind was a foul place. The holy trinity, Freud, Yung, and Bassit, had gone alone through the terrible barriers of sleep, death's brother; there they found - not nothing, as man had formerly believed - but grottoes and subterranean labyrinths full of ghouls and evil treasure, leeches, and the lusts that burn like acid. Man stood revealed to himself: a creature of infinite complexity and horror."

...too scathing for a Tuesday morning?

different dreams

via lookbook.nu

"After experiencing drastic changes in my environment, I looked for other experiences that might profoundly affect my perception of the self. So I devised another experiment where everyday I took a different drug and drew myself under the influence."

-Bryan Lewis Saunders, Artist

And the results are pretty incredible.

Right now I'm at the hotel's restaurant waiting on pizza surrounded by little kids and their parents getting drunk while I'm not getting drunk waiting on pizza. I can see people skiing outside which would be really cool right now. My little brother is also driving me nuts and this medication is so not helping, mom. I shouldn't have to leave a fucking hockey game to cry in a bathroom stall for no reason.

Okay I'm done.

via sosossosotired

not photos: paintings. nbd.

eric zener via unstage.com

yigal ozeri via unstage.com

of COURSE

Now, here, you see, it takes all of the running you can do to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else you must run at least twice as fast as that.

Author discovers footage of 1950s Housewife in LSD experiment

ms. lily cole

via cole rise

The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock

[...]

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands,

That list and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions

Before the taking of toast and tea.

[...]

TSE

Bobby Malone Moves Home

"Memory's so treacherous, one moment you're lost in a carnival of delights, with poignant childhood aromas, the flashing neon of puberty, all that sentimental candyfloss... the next, it leads you somewhere you don't want to go... somewhere dark and cold, filled with the damp, ambiguous shapes of things you'd hoped were forgotten..." --- Joker, The Killing Joke

I was born in a rainstorm. And again.

Look at these. Really. NY Museum of Art and Design had an exhibition open in Oct 2009 dedicated to novel (pun intended) uses of paper as a medium in and of itself. Neat.

Excerpt from The Albums

I just drank in this cheap room, a young man
totally misplaced in the world.
I hardly ate anything, the wine was my
substance
and the classical records.

I lived like a god damned fly, or maybe like a
confused
rat.
Where I scrounged my few funds, I no longer
remember.

But I do remember the record store
where you could exchange 3 used albums for
2.

By buying an occasional album and by continuous
trading
I gradually listened to almost all the
albums
in that store.

But most of the time I was broke so I had to
listen to very very many of the 2 albums
on hand
over and over and
over.

I drank and listened again and
again.
each note became embedded in
me
and then
re-embedded.

now
decades later
I still sometimes hear
one of those old albums on the
radio--same conductor, same
orchestra--
and I immediately
shut the radio off.

Yet remember that time with a
melancholy
fondness.

city

via xmarkjenkinsx

dream home... save for the deer head

via desire to inspire

all these things that i've done

Young Shields

there's a shield around us
we are heady we are groundless
& we burn our friends & kill their names
build insecure & petty fames
& tattoo things that we believe
stars & skulls & hearts in half-sleeves

there's a shield around us
tell me how is it you've found us
cause we hide our tracks & watch the ground
our footfalls they don't make a sound
we've cursed the names of our hometowns
we're compassless & nowhere bound

Currently Reading

Local Natives - Wide Eyes (Teen Daze Remix)

Friday:

"...I get up. I move through this pale light. I see it change beneath my hands and on the sleeves of my coat: I cannot describe how much it disgusts me. I yawn. I light the lamp on the table: perhaps its light will be able to combat the light of day. But no: the lamp makes nothing more than a pitiful pond around its base. I turn it out; I get up. There is a white hole in the wall, a mirror. It is a trap. I know I am going to let myself be caught in it. I have. The grey thing appears in the mirror. I go over and look at it, I can no longer get away.

It is the reflection of my face. Often in these lost days I study it. I can understand nothing of this face. The faces of others have some sense, some direction. Not mine. I cannot even decide whether it is handsome or ugly. I think it is ugly because I have been told so. But it doesn't strike me. At heart, I am even shocked that anyone can attribute qualities of this kind to it, as if you called a clod of earth or a block of stone beautiful or ugly.

Still, there is one thing which is pleasing to see, above the flabby cheeks, above the forehead; it is the beautiful red flame which crowns my head, it is my hair. That is pleasant to see. Anyhow, it is a definite colour: I am glad I have red hair. There it is in the mirror, it makes itself seen, it shines. I am still lucky: if my forehead was surmounted by one of those neutral heads of hair which are neither chestnut nor blond, my face would get lost in vagueness, it would make me dizzy."