(Reblogged from donkeymakey)
(Reblogged from ummhello)


Gustave Doré, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Samuel Taylor Coleridge), Harper & Brothers, New York, 1876.

(Reblogged from johndarnielle)


Watch this, Internet.


I made a 19-minute video essay about Phil Fish, which is really about internet fame and what expectations we have of the people we make famous.

I’m not entirely sure what to expect from having this online. I suspect it’s either going to be really contentious, or go largely unnoticed. Unnoticed, because, hey, it’s YouTube. Contentious because I don’t come down on the side of “Phil is an asshole,” largely because whether or not Phil is an asshole is irrelevant to the point I’m making (and similarly irrelevant to my life), but talking about Phil and saying anything other than “Phil is an asshole” tends to make you a lot of enemies. Sorta like how not blowing smoke up the PS4’s ass proves that you’re a Microsoft stooge.

Whatever. Enjoy!

(Reblogged from dudehugespeaks)

The girl looked a little like Ramona Flowers, but older: in her thirties now; and strung out. Her hair might have been bright blue or green once, but now it resembled an old lady’s blue rinse. She clutched a thin jacket too tightly around her, and walked with a permanent scowl. He face was thinner now, and meaner. Whether she was looking for a fix, or for trouble, it didn’t much matter.

"Verily it is by beauty that we come at wisdom"

…But most of all the sensation of sidewalks, for that is how you see yourself whenever you stop to think about who you are: a man who walks, who has spent his life walking through the streets of cities.
Paul Auster, The Winter Journal.

Holy shit, Paul Auster is wonderful. I don’t ever want to put this down, but I have to so it doesn’t end.
(Reblogged from henrycharlesbukowski)
(Reblogged from noirlac)