…um(a) amigo(a) tá tendo um dia ruim.

comoeumesintoquando:

image

I still can’t believe how fucking cute Daniel Craig can be!



nikoanesti:

for ten years now, leonid tishkov has traveled the world with his moon. here we see him in arctic svalbard magdalene fjord (1,5,7), new zealand, near rangitito (second photo, taken by marcus williams), the tian shang observatory near the border between china and kyrgyzstan (third photo, by po-i chen) and moscow (4,6,8, taken by boris bendikov)

"the moon is a shining point that brings people together from different countries, of different nationalities and cultures - and everyone who gets in its orbit does not forget it ever. it gives fairytale and poetry in our prosy and mercantile world," leonid writes. "the moon helps us to overcome our loneliness in the universe by uniting us around it."

leonid adds, “the ancient ural peoples who lived in my home told a fairy tale about how a shaman goes into the next world, illuminating the path of the moon. so in all of my photos, i can be seen in my late father’s cloak, because he travels with me in this way.”

This reminds me of a book I had as a kid. I can picture it, but I can’t think of what it was…

(Source: awkwardsituationist, via ktshy)


35grams:

s̺̣̣̭͈͞t̝o̭̹̳̦̗͢p͢ ̶̮͕m͇̰e̟͍̤̦̦͕̣

(via pandanoi)


ejlandsman:

I compiled some personal tactics and crowd sourced DIY remedies for the sads (clinical term) into a mini comic! Enjoy xoxo

(via adrianamelo)


fuckyeahillustrativeart:

kirstenrothbart:

Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere
© 2014, Kirsten Rothbart

fuckyeahillustrativeart:

kirstenrothbart:

Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere

© 2014, Kirsten Rothbart

image


pandamiglio:

My dog destroys things then acts like he doesn’t even see it

(via ownti)



When does real love begin? At first it was a fire, eclipses, short circuits, lightning and fireworks; the incense, hammocks, drugs, wines, perfumes; then spasm and honey, fever, fatigue, warmth, currents of liquid fire, feast and orgies; then dreams, visions, candlelight, flowers, pictures; then images out of the past, fairy tales, stories, then pages out of a book, a poem; then laughter, then chastity. At what moment does the knife wound sink so deep that the flesh begins to weep with love? At first power, power, then the wound, and love, and love and fears, and the loss of the self, and the gift, and slavery. At first I ruled, loved less; then more, then slavery. Slavery to his image, his odor, the craving, the hunger, the thirst, the obsession.
Anais Nin (via nymphetgarden)

(via weltschmerz)



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