...

[askjsklksjd]

...but with this... with what I see here. Well. You try and find the line on something like this and all it's gonna do is fur up your arteries so thick you'll think you're a fucking werewolf.

Definitely on my christmas wishlist. 

[ricanladsounds-blog-blog]

YOU AND WHOSE ARMY? | RADIOHEAD #NowPlaying From the Picture #Incendies

[askjsklksjd]

“Bury me with no casket, no prayers, naked, face down, away from the world. Stone and epitaph. I want no gravestone, nor my name engraved anywhere. No epitaph for those who don’t keep their promises. To Jeanne and Simon: Childhood is a knife stuck in your throat. It can’t be easily removed. Jeanne, Mr Lebel will give you an envelope. The envelope is for your father. Find him, and give it to him. Simon, the notary will give you an envelope… The envelope is for your brother. Find him, and give him the envelope. When the envelopes have been delivered you will be given a letter. The silence will be broken, a promise kept, and you can place a stone on my grave and on it engrave my name in the sun.” Incendies (2010)

[irakalan]

ADVENTUREE’S DIARY + WRITTEN PORTRAITS

Company Souverein 

The Adventurer’s Diary was a comission project made for the magazine 3D Artist (www.3dartistonline.com). It was the final result of a tutorial about its creation we were asked to write.

The “Written Portraits” series were created by completely in 3D for the Dutch Book Week. Concept by Markus Ravenhorst and Maarten Reynen, CGI and postproduction by Souverein Weesp.

tumblr | behance | facebook

[askjsklksjd]

X began his first day of school and his mumsy dropped him off at the gates, sports kit, books and all. There was heavy traffic. They'd both gotten up at a cold turkey time, after the long summer holiday. X instantly made eye contact with a woman who beamed and quickly explained that it was her son's first day at school. Only then did X recognize her. She moved on and waved Hi to X's mumsy. X said hello to people he hadn't seen for a year with such enthusiasm that he soon burnt out and felt he was pretending a personality. He reappraised his appraisals of certain teachers and wondered, while two friends he was walking home from school with chatted on subjects he knew nothing about, whether he reflected people's personalities when he was with them, portrayed what he thought they wanted to see or even what he thought, subconsciously, they expected to see. Each possibility was equally likely and depressing, and had each been believed at intervals, without thought or comparison. One of his friends, A, said something and X snapped back into reality, if it was. At home he slung on a denim collared shirt like a jacket and placed his history homework beside Mice and Men in his old brown satchel. His father told him not to walk the dog, if he was just going to read, because it wouldn't really be a walk. X had shrugged and left. He'd gone to the local shop and bought rubicon lychee and lemon honey soothers with two pounds filched from the little plate on the table in the entrance by the door. Then he'd taken the canal route and entered what was known as the Trap Grounds (and by other names, to some friends). He took the planked route across the small marsh and set down at what he thought of as a bird watching observatory, and Japanese in inspiration: he'd been the day before, reading mice and men too. Now though, he did his history first, having a soother and rolling licorice baccy. Four people passed though by positional perk none saw him, chatting meters away with their backs to him because they followed the path, even though he sat in the clear open. He played music on his phone a little. At supper that night house guests cooked dinner, and he was irritated by the way in which his mumsy appeared to unsubtly taim alcohol related info at him. Offered him Cherry vodka to 'try' in a way as patronizing as it was, somehow, taunting. He responded with subtle moves, ignoring her when she said thank you wide smiling for clearing the plates and making comments humorous enough to get laughs and yet still be purposeful jabs. Just like hers. On the way upstairs to bed he found her teary and hugged her and said I didnt know I could get to you so easily. She made him hug her three times. He tried to explain himself. She got snappy, intrusive, self righteously piously sniffing. X left her in even more of a state, and she shouted at him when he whispered to his passing brother on the way out. Stop whispering! X went to bed from his first day of school, angry at himself, and jumped out his window and ran all the way to the train tracks and lay under the stars waiting for a train to come and crush his stupid gangly body to bits. But not really. The next day, X and his mumsy made up and it was really really sunny and hot, and in the evening a house guest entertained them with a chart of her exes thus far, characters of all genders and ages. X was entertained.

[askjsklksjd]

There it is. Stood there thinking: the bag was OUTSIDE the house behind the dustbins! Nestled there because I was halfway down the street before thinking do I really need to carry this with me, and, hey, indoors is way to far because I'm coming back really soon. And all this remembered in an instant after how long searching? Well there, here it is now. And lucky too, considering it's just started pouring down in the nearly nine dark

[askjsklksjd]

Ricochet

The first thing that comes up when you type the word 'ricochet' into google is Ricochet.com . The first suggestion is: 'ricochet kills' followed in quick succession by 'ricochet kills 3' and 'ricochet kills 2'. 

When you type in: "ricochet definition" the suggestions are as follows: 

ricochet definition francais

ricochet definition synonym 

and lastly:

bullet ricochet definition

The first result then reads: 

Noun:A shot or hit that rebounds one or more times off a surface.Verb:(of a bullet, shell, or other projectile) Rebound one or more times off a surface: "a bullet ricocheted off the wall".Synonyms:

noun.  rebound - bounce

verb.  rebound

And above that, there's a sound button. You click that sound button, an American sounding guy will say the word: ricochet. As many times as you want, to your heart's content, again and again, ricochet rico-chet rick-oh-shay, always the same word and the same noise but, inevitably, you'll soon find the word becomes weird, sounds weird, sounds different and doesn't make sense in your head anymore.

And you'll think, if you didn't before: Hey, that's spelt weird. Must be French. 

[askjsklksjd]

[askjsklksjd]

Cute - somewhere in Singapore's vast underground network, near the Esplanade.

[askjsklksjd]

Words I don't know from Infinite Jest Part One

Sobriquet Stevedore Aether Phonemes Formants Fricatives Trochaically Aperture Eschews Denuded Hypogonadism Nodular leprosy with Leonine facies Acromegalic Hyperkeratosistic Enuretic Spasmodically torticollic Transuranial metallurgist Modem-banks Rostral lamina Neuroform Hoary dramaturgy

[askjsklksjd]

Away from the Wasps 1

Metanoia called them wasps, so Hal went with that. Because you couldn't call them by their old names anymore, could you? The names they'd been given when they'd been waiting. Helpers, Servants, Carers, Builders, Friendlies, all names now hilariously out of date. 

Hal crouched against the wall of an underground tunnel, dark and damp and sprawling beneath a burning city. His eyes had adjusted to the dark but the gloom was inescapable, and the perfect smooth oval that makes up the head of a Wasp, and its tall, long limbed awkward metal-black body seemed to lurk perpetually in the unfathomable. There was a smell, but Hal couldn't quite place it. Like damp paper when it's gone a little mouldy, as happened with some of his old school textbooks back home. Back home, which he'd never felt so far from. Hal's eyes were glazed over as he stared at some undefined point on the ceiling, mulling over events.  Metanoia stood up and found his hand a little wet from some unseen puddle, wiped it irritably on his shirt. Grime. Grime and dirt. He sniffed, and surveyed the tunnel. Maybe the others were looking at him, maybe they weren't, it was hard to tell in this light. 

He said: "We have to get going. They're swarming the city now, but once everyone's dead they'll come back down here. They like it best - living underground. So we have to go. We have to..." Hesitation, deterred a little by any lack of response. But he thought he could feel their attention on him, maybe. "Run. We have to run. We can't stay here, you see?" 

He perceived a nod, somewhere, from someone. Then a voice, the blonde girl, Lilian, who said: "We should wait. We're safe here. If we move we'll only..." 

"We might run... right into them," the French boy said, and his voice came to the right of Lilian's. 

"We have to go. I'm going," Metanoia explained.

Now a figure rose up opposite Metanoia, and the figure was tense and switched on her phone so it shone light in his face. 

"And who made you the leader? We don't even know you, really," she said.

The comment struck a chord with the others who sat in the dark. Hal didn't know them. Hal didn't know anyone, Hal had been on an exchange. And the French boy had been on holiday. And the last kid, a bald girl, had for reasons of her own never even spoken to the two other girls, despite their being at her school. Lilian knew this, Lilian only knew her friend, who stood up now.

But Metanoia didn't know any of that. He said: "I brought you here, didn't I? I took you to my dad's place and everything. I got you your implants." 

The girl said: "You just ran, and we just followed. I bet if we go back up now it'll all be. Better." 

Metanoia grinned at the uncertainty in her voice. Her name was Brit now, he remembered.

"The world just changed. Like my mum told me it would, way before I was even born. And anyway, these tunnels lead straight out into the woods. My dad said so." 

"Then why isn't he here, with us?" 

"He had to look for - had to look for..."

The bald girl, oddly called Toom, stood up. 

"Let's just go," she said. 

Hal thought that she must be nervous, just sitting doing nothing. They were all exhausted, but the tunnels were no place to sleep. And the dark disturbed them all. 

Brit glanced at Toom, then considered quickly and flicked her ponytail around her left shoulder, pulling Lilian off the ground. "Okay," she said, "We're with you."

And Lilian was quiet, and the French boy was quiet, and Hal just nodded at Metanoia. 

"Right," he said, "Better light up then." 

White light flamed harmless from the implant in his right palm. It flickered around his fingers and danced like threads of fire, breathing upwards. One by one, five other lights illuminated the darkness: each a different colour, each vibrant and moving and alive. Then they started into the deeper, a walk which quickly broke into a run which eventually broke into a sprint when they found themselves in the middle of a vast hall of obsidian blackness, predatory Wasps emerging from the black walls like the walls were vertical water rippling. 

[askjsklksjd]

Personally, the photographer thought having shots next to the sea was a bad idea because it so blatantly outdid the Bride's light blue dress, making it look tacky and, by consequence, making her look tacky. Tackier. The Bride wasn't thinking about the colour dynamics - keeping the frills of the frilly wedding dress absolutely sand-grain-less was a full time job which required complete, un-diverted focus. The Groom, meanwhile, was thinking that Wasn't it unlucky to see the wife in her wedding dress before the event and Oh boy it's a bit bit hot hot to be wearing black on a day like this day isn't it? 

[askjsklksjd]

I'm in Rawa. On Rawa? Lots of wedding couples here taking pictures. They're very formal, stiff. Mostly - there was one couple that got down in the water, her in a clean as snow miniskirt wedding dress an him in a white tux and huge grin. They stood up to their wastes in it having fun. I reckon their pictures will look best.

[irakalan]

Yayoi Kusama at Tate Modern

saw this at the tate in london with my family it's brilliant because the lights change colour and you don't realise, when you first walk in, that you're just in a small room with mirrors. I thought I'd stepped into some massive hall, with water perpetually running through it and hundreds of people following the small path from start to end. 

[irakalan]

Street artist Nomerz

[Via thisiscolossal]

[askjsklksjd]

i want someone to be living in this place, and i want to talk to them. 

[irakalan]

Photographer Neil Krug  - Venus Transit

(Neil Krug is an American artist based in Los Angeles)

[Via facebook/Neil Krug]

quite cool bit annoyed i missed it seeing as i got a highly underused telescope for christmas.

[askjsklksjd]

Had to do this for English homework last week, sort of whizzed through it.

Now all the Youth of England are on Fire

We spread like a computer virus through the nexus streets of England, fireworks in the windshield dark of night crackling with our feeling. This revolution, said Jeldry, will burn inside the hearts of the Old when they try to put us down, and they’ll know they were right before they first claimed their sin. They will cry at their weakness as they try to put us down and beat us into the earth, telling us all the while that our turn will come. To wait, as they beat us, in patience. Until that day we reach a hundred years, and they grant us the drug that will give us forever and ever in our personal, ultimate wisdom. Look at us, they say, we were once you, once young like you, and now we are on high, because we were the ever patient. And today, said Jeldry, Today we say to them, you are the rotting black ice of generations past, and now all the youth of England are on fire; fighting with bullets and teeth against the cold, undying slip slope of your unjustly sordid immortality. We are the virus against the dream, and our revolution shall return this immortal-world-for-some to the old days of equal suffering, away from bitter, grinding breath and back to the fiery, eternal blazing death.

[askjsklksjd]

Not sure what the 

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