jane @cruellikeyouu - Tumblr Blog

Virginia Woolf in Venice

Wallet I made for my gf for Xmas , that’s my teeth

I bit into a piece of clay then scanned it and traced it in illustrator, then laser cut thick leather and wet molded lamb skin over it

Yes the stitching is fucked up; my machine was tweaking; imperfect so as not to offend god

lothegalaxye

Jean-Luc Godard & Anna Karina

it's my name day today so I bought myself an overpriced pastry, missed 90% of my classes and bought myself w winter depression lamp. now its time to listen to leonard cohen

angelicdewdrop

aktionist

luperina

Françoise Hardy in Courrèges (1973)

discohoee

Don’t forget your daily clicks !!!

saintfelina

link

passioflos

Egon Schiele, Kneeling Girl, Resting on Both Elbows, 1917

petaltexturedskies

You notice it first as April ends and May begins, a change in the season, not exactly a warming-in fact not at all a warming-yet suddenly summer seems near, a possibility, even a promise. You pass a window, you walk to Central Park, you find yourself swimming in the colour blue: the actual light is blue, and over the course of an hour or so this blue deepens, becomes more intense even as it darkens and fades, approximates finally the blue of the glass on a clear day at Chartres, or that of the Cerenkov radiation thrown off by the fuel rods in the pools of nuclear reactors. The French called this time of day "I'heure bleue." To the English it was "the gloaming." The very word "gloaming" reverberates, echoes—the gloaming, the glimmer, the glitter, the glisten, the glamour-carrying in its consonants the images of houses shuttering, gardens darkening, grass-lined rivers slipping through the shadows.

Joan Didion, Blue Nights

podcastwizard

ideal ways for me to die

1. old age, peacefully in my sleep

2. after a long and illustrious career i am at a rooftop gala hosted in my honor. i am wearing a beautiful gown, holding a glass of red wine, standing by the railing. a scorned lover approaches and, after a passionate spat, they push me over the edge of the building. the wine glass goes flying, splattering their outfit in red as a visual metaphor for the blood on their hands. as i descend my gown flies around me like two beautiful wings, a bird in flight. a photographer on the street manages to take a photo before i hit the ground and that photo wins the pulitzer. a new york times think piece is released regarding whether or not it's moral to profit off a photo of someone's death. the think piece also wins a pulitzer.

3. sex accident.