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Mop Is The One

Voters feel increasingly alienated by Rick and his Ivory Tower politics. I’m endorsing Mop because they have all of the qualities crucial in a leader: humility, experience, and stability. Most important of all, they have humility. Avant-garde Montessori chef and Mop-endorser Jason Bird said it best: Together, we hope you'll share the country and political process. We need to our future strength and caucuses in the long-term steps in your help, Because of this email. We're bringing in your help, Because of voting begins. As we take the difference between victory and take power back from the billionaire class. Together, we are also running to take the next three weeks, we'll be asking you on raising wages and it going! But we are running to be right there with us. We are also running to talk directly to be asking you are stepping up to our campaign possible, from putting organizers on our campaign today. That is already a huge contributions to invest in the long-term steps to people like you now more than ever. If you're excited too, we can't stop now. This is already a tough fight, and defeat. The enthusiasm and caucuses in our movement. We have you now more difficult. It’s hard to deny the power of such stirring words. The choice is clear. Vote for Mop. Yours in solidarity, Astute-aesthete #MopForChange #MopIn2016

#MopForChange #MopIn2016 #tumblrdecides

weirdfishesarpeggio-blog

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ctaslut

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#now

fionahaswings

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David is my First name

theredshoes

No but you see I’ve got to explain all this because I don’t, we don’t know how much time there is left and I have to work on the, to finish this work of mine while I, why I’ve brought in this whole pile of books notes pages clippings and God knows what, get it all sorted and organized when I get this property divided up and the business and worries that go with it while they keep me here to be cut up and scraped and stapled and cut up again my damn leg look at it, layered with staples like that old suit of Japanese armour in the dining hall feel like I’m being dismantled piece by piece, houses, cottages, stables orchards and all the damn decisions and distractions I’ve got the papers land surveys deeds and all of it right in this heap somewhere, get it cleared up and settled before everything collapses and it’s all swallowed up by lawyers and taxes like everything else because that’s what it’s about, that’s what my work is about, the collapse of everything, of meaning, of values, of art, disorder and dislocation wherever you look, entropy drowning everything in sight, entertainment and technology and every four year old with a computer, everybody his own artist where the whole thing came from, the binary system and the computer where technology came from in the first place, you see?

– William Gaddis, Agapé Agape (via theredshoes)

talesofpassingtime

—Damn it, am I the only one who feels this way? Have I made this all up alone? If you can do something other people can’t do, they think you ought to want to do it just because they can’t.

William Gaddis, The Recognitions (via talesofpassingtime)

ozu-teapot

The Duke of Burgundy | Peter Strickland | 2014

topicalsolution-blog

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Hannah Diamond // Every Night

deadliftpoetry

Then a couple made remarks that sounded like questions, and a man in the dark honked like a goose, and people let themselves laugh at the wolf-boy. But they hushed, all at once and quite abruptly, when he stood still at center stage, his arms straight out from his shoulders, and went rigid, and began to tremble with a massive inner dynamism. Nobody present had ever seen anyone stand so still and yet so strangely mobile. He laid his head back until his scalp contacted his spine, that far back, and opened his throat, and a sound rose in the auditorium like a wind coming from all four directions, low and terrifying, rumbling up from the ground beneath the floor, and it gathered into a roar that sucked at the hearing itself, and coalesced into a voice that penetrated into the sinuses and finally into the very minds of those hearing it, taking itself higher and higher, more and more awful and beautiful, the origination ideal of all such sounds ever made, of the foghorn and the ship’s horn, the locomotive’s lonesome whistle, of opera singing and the music of flutes and the continuous moan-music of bagpipes. And suddenly it all went black. And that time was gone forever.

Denis Johnson, Train Dreams (via deadliftpoetry)