"The job of the poet (a job which can’t be learned) consists of placing those objects of the visible world which have become invisible due to the glue of habit, in an unusual position which strikes the soul and gives them a tragic force."
— Cocteau, p.12, “La Mort et les Statues”, Paris, 1977. (via tri-ciclo)

candycoatedqueenies:

2srooky:

catlover839:

archgayngel:

captain-irrayditation:

irrhythmic:

captchaloginbreadcrumbs:

[INTERNAL SCREAMING]

this is not ok

telling time just got 300% more confusing

aesthetically interesting, cognitively nightmarish

Teacher: What’s the time?

Me: *Mental breakdown*

It’s literally just the same god damn clock hands and the outside rotates. Do you not know how to read an analog clock.

I love this. 

emilyblincoe:

sugar series //colors oranized neatly

emily blincoe

july/august 2013

grandmafupa:

Painfully average looking with a great sense of humor and always down to get drunk