This is my dad - Michael - he passed away on Friday May 17, 2013.

I miss him so much.

pretty much hate my life right now.

wish i could just disappear.

tyleroakley:

MUST WATCH: “If Heterophobia Was Real”

(via emilythegeoffy)

panicsatdiscos:

“no homo,” i whisper, pulling back from the microscope in front of me. the gene is heterozygous. i am a scientist

This would be one of the rare times uttering that phrase is acceptable.

(via lk8n)

Well this is just all kinds of win.

(Source: rileyerickson, via lk8n)

watershedplus:

Formerly one of the four largest lakes in the world, the Aral Sea has been steadily shrinking since the 1960s after the rivers that fed it were diverted by Soviet irrigation projects. Although irrigation made the desert bloom, it devastated the Aral Sea.

From here, here, and there

thaac-on:

Foreword by Tom Hardy
written for Tim Palen’s gloriously photographed book: The Men of Warrior.

“Photographers…I’m making a sweeping generalization here, abhorrent as it may sound, or just unimportant as I am unimportant, but I’ve come into contact with these creatures—these beings, these artists (some). My feelings are subjective, couched simply in jouissance, irrational. Nonetheless, in all honesty, my truth, my absolute truth is: I don’t trust them.
As a breed, on the whole, it’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just that I don’t like a lot of their “fashion concept” art; their wanky installation Blow Up scenario push. It doesn’t float my pickle. I sense a delight in all things masturbatory, their printed f_art not worth a scratch of arse. They’re wallop merchants, creative time-wasters, their crews with “shocking” haircuts, traipsing around an “urban” studio in open-toed trainers they’ve never worked out in, 80’s wristbands, and skin-tight T-shirts or stripey stockings over tight jeans or cut-off dungarees—peering through those clumsy clunky red frames with no lenses that MC Serch might have worn (but he needed to see, he had real lenses…I hope).
The whole ordeal makes me want to puke up my innards and drive a nail through them and jump through the window from the fifteenth floor of the meatpacking district studio we’re in, to feel alive for the few seconds it takes me to hit the ground. Why? It’s just my reaction…these shoots give me panic attacks. Of course, this is irrational. I’ve been told I need to play ball with them.
I come across a lot of these creatures in my line of work. I dread being forced to sit in their fuckin’ tree-over-a-beautiful-brook location they just happened to have happened across whilst wandering through the ass end of Belsize Park that morning, fetching a latte to submit to the lipid colony hanging from their protruding fat ass. Or they might take me to the streets of Hachney, to pretend to read poetry in a stariwell: “It’s so street,” they say, and because I’m a “British thesp,” it’s a “juxtaposition.” I hate being told: “Do that thing your character does, with the fists and all so broody,” or “You’re an actor, act for me. Act a part now, be the character, do acting!” while they flounce ‘round waving Polaroids, nibbling celery and hummus, pretending that class A’s are passé.
And the people they talk about I’ve never heard of—ever. But I know very little…Many of this breed are simply morons, charlatans, and like in all the arts, they’re slinging their wares, talking loud, saying nothing, “contributing.” I don’t have the patience for a photographer who hasn’t been to war or something more…well, something more important than fashion (yawn). Funny, because I love all kinds of photos and I get that people like fashion and to each their own. But I, like many other actors (who are just as irritating, I’m sure, to photographers), don’t like being watched. I don’t belong in front of the camera—as myself.
This guy Tim Palen? He was OK… I didn’t mind him so much. I’d do a silly fashion shoot for him…not that he will want me now.
I also find this true of people with guitars.”

Awesome read. Damn, I love his honesty.

twerk4tacobell:

lady-sherlock:

colinandbradleysgirl:

theabyssofword:

me on my way to overthrow yo country

tried to scroll past this, couldn’t.

same

napoleon more like naponyon

SPOILER ALERT:
he loses the battle of waterloo

It’s about the amount of swag that pony has.

(Source: gazpachoblog, via emilythegeoffy)

But how do you say goodbye without breaking down into a mess of tears.

Or is that okay? Is that part of it?

I believe that if we have the chance, the opportunity to say “goodbye”, we should take it.

But, it’s so hard to say that word…because I don’t want to say it.

So I say - I’ll see you later.

(Source: gosly, via lk8n)