(via emporte)

The other day I saw Disclosure & Skrillex on molly & it was outrageously fun.

…I don’t even know who I am anymore…

Self-Portrait with Internet


A full-scale replica of Egypt’s Great Sphinx has been built in a Chinese theme park.

If tumblr—and tumblr as a metonymy for Internet-ness—has taught me anything, it would be that people don’t change very much their concepts of what gets compartmentalized into the glow of their fetish-boxes. Their faces, their pages, what they are willing to witness at once. Or, it would be that the information we encounter in one moment, like say in a photograph of your room right now with you in it at this point in time (the room that is yours because you are in it, responsible or irresponsible for its laws), can be worked over for the fetish, can be read into with lenses right down to the most contingent of collections, being those things that amass in the dark without our knowing and which speak the language of archeology when we know them, which is just to say we know them. The spectral being any touch of ‘personality’ that is an affront to the category, that speaks in 8 or 9 different volumes at once or is a deviation from the normal and regular way the accident is observed since you last could remember.

A slice of cake, once cut, can not recall its nation. Eight slices of cake on a cake stand have no idea that they are circled by other slices of cake. Eight slices of crumb cake are interrupted by a slice of carrot cake, making nine nice slices of cake. This makes the crumb cake realize something about who he or she is. But it can not change the fact that each fact stops at the border of limit, and yet there is what art has not swept over, that which is a lot like the moisture of cakes carrot and crumb—a kind of intelligence thriving on its own obscurity and unattainability. That which gives a great piece of sushi its gravitational pull.

gee poy

Title: Point That Thing Somewhere Else Artist: The Clean 269 plays

Hi tumblr.


Tom Millea - Yosemite swimmer, 1989


Gillian Carnegie (British, b. 1971), Elevator, 1999. Oil on masonite, 130.2 x 23.1 cm.

(via tectusregis)

Sanity as the most horrible thing to expect from another, when you yourself have been implicated and infected.



michelle fleck


O!!!!!!!!!!! Sundown!!!!!!!! Constipated!!!!!!!!! Hardly eking shadow!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!The idea of arrows!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MY FUCK: how many cupids do you fuck per hour???????

In deigning not a thought to passion,
heavy heat ushers here bird and scape alike
down into lovely chromaticism

c\olor, timbre !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! other stupid-fucking stuff

And out of the pregnancies a hard-fought day
can said to be won be said to be won?


Then night as the spook

Then night, again. Its cabals of, hoards of
calibrate stargazers

the sun-burnt vendors
who sell them hope.

Doing shrooms in Central Park this afternoon. Should be horrifying.