James Cagney in Footlight Parade (1933)
Keni

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
No title available
wallacepolsom

Kiana Khansmith
ojovivo
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

@theartofmadeline
Claire Keane
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
RMH
No title available
occasionally subtle

#extradirty

izzy's playlists!
Sade Olutola
Misplaced Lens Cap
trying on a metaphor
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Poland

seen from United Kingdom

seen from T1

seen from Canada

seen from Slovenia

seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Brazil

seen from Indonesia

seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Türkiye
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
seen from Netherlands

seen from Türkiye
@b8rack
James Cagney in Footlight Parade (1933)
kenosha september 2016 i didn’t even do this i found it walking down the street. it was meant to be.
I have become obsessed with long term nuclear waste disposal warnings
LOOK AT THE HOSTILE ARCHITECTURE PROPOSED TO WARN FUTURE CIVILIZATIONS I’M GOING TO CRY
Like this is the closest thing we’re ever gonna have to old gods I’m really losing my mind
@jonathan-sins EXACTLY… THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN ABOUT BABY
“we sure are a species huh”
this fails to include all of the UN’s proposed companion text, which reads:
“This place is a message… and part of a system of messages …pay attention to it!
Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.
This place is not a place of honor … no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.
What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.
The danger is in a particular location… it increases towards a center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.
The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.
The danger is to the body, and it can kill.
The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.
The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.”
which gives a nice drizzle of cosmic-dread inspiring je-ne-sais-quoi to te whole thing imo
A God I Can Handle, 2025
Cotton fabric [30x34inches] -by me
Carol Kaye
obsessed with this bookshop in stratford-upon-avon having WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE listed as a ”local author”
you can’t even run wild or lock horns or butt heads anymore. because of yoke
Sorry, Millennials, but recent paleontologist findings and hyolaryngeal apparatus reconstructions no longer support the hypothesis that "rawr" means "I love you" in dinosaur.
I made you a bibliography but I eated it :(
Because I continue to overestimate my llamas' respect for informal agreements, I opened the pasture gate to let everyone graze a bit around the neighbour's barn. This area has a fence that can be jumped over pretty easily, but I was going to be sitting there watching them the whole time—well, watching them intermittently while reading a book, but if I glance up every 2 minutes, realistically how could four slow herbivores
😔
If you would like to join me on this long and patient llama hunt, I have prepared a crude map of the terrain so you can get your bearings. We are starting on the road right next to the neighbour's barn.
My first instinct was to resolve the situation through diplomacy. If the animals wanted to slightly broaden the grazing perimeter, well, okay; I could let them eat on the side of the road. Unfortunately, only Pirlouit supported this plan.
He kept trying to stop and eat, while the llamas had places to go.
So I followed them along the road for quite a while, patiently waiting to reach the wider stretch where I knew I could sprint ahead, overtake everyone and force them to turn around. Not yet a full victory but at least I'd feel like I was regaining some influence over events.
But Pampérigouste is familiar with my manoeuvres, and she turned around of her own initiative before we reached this spot, left the road, and led everyone into the woods for a bit (and almost managed to shake me off as I kept getting slowed down by brambles, being the only person in this situation who was wearing clothes); then she re-emerged on the road near the barn, and went into the neighbour's pasture. Which is quite vast, and goes all the way down to the torrent.
So naturally, Pampe went all the way down to the torrent—following a route of astonishingly unnecessary complexity and glancing back now and then to check that her followers had not lost faith.
The other animals clearly felt that once you've reached a vast and lush pasture, the logical next step is to stay and eat (while Pampe sees it as evidence that vaster and lusher pastures remain to be discovered.)
... that is, until we reached the torrent and I finally managed to turn everyone around, back in the direction of their pasture. At that exact moment, Pampe realised grazing was an urgent priority.
Once we finally reached the road, with Pampe bringing up the rear at an aggressively leisurely pace, I figured that if I got the rest of the herd back in their pasture, she would grudgingly follow.
I was wrong.
The other animals briefly hesitated (it was getting late; their pasture was right there; they don't like spending the night in unfamiliar places) before recommitting to Pampe.
We could have actually followed the road in this direction all the way back to my house, and therefore the other, upper gate to their pasture, bringing this expedition to a neat and peaceful conclusion. Pampe solved this problem by throwing herself into the woods.
At this stage I feel that my updated map will be more informative than human language.
(I made an attempt to restore coherence to our journey through the use of directional arrows.)
When we somehow ended up back in the neighbour's pasture after an exciting (not for me) chase through the woods, I admitted defeat, and texted my neighbour to let him know my animals would be spending the night in his pasture due to circumstances not meaningfully under my control, but I would be back on the case in the morning to get them home. Having met Pampe, he didn't ask any further questions.
I didn't really believe that the animals might magically return on their own during the night, but still I left the pasture gate open—but only the one near my house; the other gate by the neighbour's pasture remained closed because I just couldn't face the slope again.
And somehow, the next morning, when I opened my window, everyone was here.
I should add that my neighbour later found several tufts of llama wool caught on his fence in various places, allowing us to partially reconstruct the llamas' return journey (that's me in the background attempting to get a statement from his cow.)
I have therefore updated my map once more to illustrate (in green) the final stage of this expedition, based on physical evidence and on my partial understanding of Pampe's worldview.
But really the moral of this story is that giving up and going to bed works. Always give up!
“The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.”
— L.P. Hartley, The Go-Between
(vía JOAN MIRÓ. “Le Lezard aux Plumes d’Or” (Una lámina). Arte - Obra gráfica - Auctionet)
Amphora Bat Vase by Richard Freiwald
has everyone seen the website that gives you a rothko for your local weather?
Titles like Baudrillard’s Simulacra and Simulation or Debord’s Society of the Spectacle or Marx’s Capital are often called prophetic in their descriptions of the dynamics of the internet age, and justifiably so, but what’s often lost is the fact that these authors were also perfectly describing their own times, not just predicting ours. The indignities of the conditions in which we live may be getting more visible and in some senses more extreme, but they aren’t new, and to make a fetish of their supposed newness or exceptionalism only serves to render them unsolvable (or as solvable only by returning to a romanticized Before Times — a genre of solution presented just as often by liberal culture writers as it is by Donald Trump). I think we all would do well to get off of TikTok, but the purpose of a system is what it does, and so it’s also worth mentioning that phones are not an aberrant tumor that can be neatly excised while leaving the rest of the system intact; they’re just the newest and most visible manifestation of a deep, old sickness. If the Atlantic columnists were to snap their fingers and get rid of all this technology tomorrow, we’d still be a consumer population that values the cutting of costs, the maximization of profit, the alienation of human labour from value, the commodification of all being into pure product, the supremacy of the market. With those principles as our guide, we’d find our way back to iPhones and AI eventually.
Rayne Fisher-Quann, Machine Yearning
Tiger Beat, November 1965