[video]
(via greenlikebathwater)
[video]
(Source: unusualyoung, via lesfemmes)
[video]
[video]
First picture of The Bling Ring, Sofia Coppola’s next film starring Emma Watson, unveilled at Cannes
Hollywood needs more woman directors. The world needs more woman directors. How many can you name OTHER than Sofia Coppola?
This kid’s got panache.
(via nomatterhowitends)
The sawdust on the floor soaked dampness and lack
and I ran my fingers through bins of nails until the tips throb with ache;
my tears only started after ten minutes.
The time before cell phones meant ‘lost’ happened in a slower rhythm.
As my flip-flopped soles pad against the sample carpets, the electric howl
of the PA system called for someone else’s child through the empty.
Your feet sounded so similar to the woman in the paint section, her cart empty.
I wondered where you were and if you had even noticed yet what you lack
as the automatic doors sounded their metal and gear howl
behind you, I wondered if you’d noticed the ache
of distance between us, or only the rhythm
of your car’s alarm system roaring for three minutes.
My hammer head body lost in the faucet section, I counted more minutes
on my fingers, the aisle empty,
and part of me liked the thought of being without you, the rhythm
of my connecter, my conduit, my coupling electrical body and what I knew it to lack.
My eyes plunged into the backs of the sockets, the mute ache,
the slither of my feet on the cement floor—cement wall—metal—aisle—howl.
Wandering into the toilet section, the bowls flushed their artificial howl
and a lady with French-fry blonde hair talked at me for several minutes.
Where are you? Do you even know I’m gone? A seven-year-old ache
in my stomach, was this the first question you asked when you house was no longer empty—
while your single friend from college killed himself flying a plane, never knowing your lack.
Did he wish he had a daughter to abandon in a Home Depot? His tie flew in rhythm
with the wind; you would never know the free he does. Your home rhythm
is the imminent child’s howl
that comes shivering out of the extra bedrooms your college friends lack.
Your feet return through the aisles you had just left minutes
ago, noting for the first time that the store feels empty
and I was hiding by the refrigerators to dull the hot ache.
Your pace quickened in the lightbulb aisle—fed your striking ache
to crash your fist at something, I finally heard the rhythm
of your steps and opened a refrigerator I already knew to be empty—
maybe someone left something in there—and I heard again the howl
of the PA system calling my name before I sat and counted the minutes.
Your square hair and moustache appear behind the glossy counters that lack
messiness, dirtiness, your ache of a smile appeared as my watery howl
attracted the French-fry lady. Her steps in your own rhythm, echoing the minutes
you were away from me, empty, and our arms just touched each other, you aware of what things fatherhood lacked.
“Cautiously, I allowed myself to feel good at times. I found moments of peace in cheap rooms just staring at the knobs of some dresser or listening to the rain in the dark. The less I needed the better I felt.”— Charles Bukowski, “Let It Enfold You” (via salveo)
(Source: larmoyante)
[video]
When my mom was a kid on her parents’ farm they had big dogs. They had two Weimaraners like this one: Fritz and Max. Fritz was the smartest dog you could meet, she said. She always said sometimes dogs are smarter than their owners. Max was not as smart, but he was the friendliest dog you could meet. Whenever a stranger came into the house Max would be the first one to bound up to him. One day, she said, they woke up in the morning and found that the house had been burglarized in the night as they slept. Max was nowhere to be found. They never saw him again and to this day, my mom says, they think he must have gone with the burglar because he loved people so much. Just wagged his tail at the guy’s heels all the way to the getaway car and hopped in the backseat.
(via therestisthewest)
Michael Fassbender - GQ by Mario Testino, June 2012
I think I have found the new gentleman obsession. I think this one finally surpasses Gosling. Maybe, just maybe, one day he will prove himself more satisfactory than RDJ. Doubtful.
(Source: GQ)
(Source: b-c-d)
When I was 20 something I got a this tattoo of a light switch
Something about control
I was probably high, but fearful of the dark
I haven’t been this afraid of sleep in so long
Mostly scared to wake up like this.
My castle boasts the shoreline
Every wave beckons hellfire with an arched tongue,
A hand to sweep away.We pretend this is normal
You don’t say much
I won’t ask questions
The bombs drop and hover around our eyes
Those fucking bugs in May.How did it come to this
Rotting in complacency
A dog matted in mange and tick infested
Some decrepit stray on the overpass
Grip the wheel,
Swallow compassion pretend its a bum
Feel a leash tug your finger,
But it would spoil the seats.
They were just cleaned.
Let’s make sense of this.We’re revolving,
A slow dance to a nickel plated tune
Shin dig to dip and jive till your legs remember where they came from
But blow me up fast
There’s a switch under my arm
It swells in the dark, you can’t miss it
Please turn the lights off when you’re finished.