12.24.13 by KingAdriano on Flickr.

@theartofmadeline
Jules of Nature

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JBB: An Artblog!
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Cosimo Galluzzi
Three Goblin Art
RMH
noise dept.
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
NASA
Not today Justin
hello vonnie
$LAYYYTER

ellievsbear
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@pretty--little-things
12.24.13 by KingAdriano on Flickr.
Stitchwork, Britt Hutchison
The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.
F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (via help-n-quotes)
photo: athenagraceco
I am viciously in love with you.
“this photo represents how far i gone in my photography and how much i learned and the priceless memories that came with it.” - danny bui // #localwolves
I miss California
Oakland
I grew up in the Bay Area rave scene. From age 15 (bless my poor parents) until my early twenties I spent most weekends traversing the north bay, east bay, San Francisco, south bay, and beyond as part of the community of artists, musicians, technologists, queers, and weirdos that shared an interest in electronic music and the underground. It was my introduction to design, technology, DIY ethos, philosophy, activism, and so much more. It felt like the future and a return to communal human roots at the same time.
We preferred small, intimate, unpermitted venues. Artist live-work spaces, industrial warehouses, gymnasiums, abandoned offices—places we sometimes literally broke into with bolt cutters. Venues with names like The Creamery, Army Street, Crackhouse, Noodle Factory, Tree House, My Floppy’s Flophouse, New Hack City, The Tenderloft, Overworld, Otherworld, The Compound, and so many I am probably forgetting. Finding a venue was always the hard part because cities cracked down and rents were high, making it impossible to have permitted all-age, all-night parties. These venues were in ghettos and forgotten dark alleys but they were safe places to be for those of us who didn’t feel like we fit in with the mainstream. These places felt special, magical even. We rarely thought about physical safety beyond hiring a security guard to be there for appearances if cops showed up. But in retrospect I’ve often felt incredibly grateful that I survived those years and the often dangerous situations we all put ourselves in.
Once, I was at a party in Oakland, in a sketchy part of town where young white girls weren’t supposed to be. I was 16 and helping with setup and door. I had parked my Ford Escort outside and as the party was warming up I walked outside to grab something from the front door of the car. As I approached my car, another car came careening around the corner and smashed right into the driver side door, totaling it then somehow screeching off. I was seconds away from being in that exact spot and shook to the core. When I shared my story on the SF-Raves email list, everyone in the community rallied to raise money to pay for the car (no insurance for hit and run) and supported me emotionally… something I’ll never forget.
Even though I grew out of that scene long ago I’ll always be a part of that community and I owe so much of who I am to those experiences. Last night, at an event reminiscent of endless parties I attended and including several familiar faces (I knew 2 people, many more connected by only one degree), a fire ripped through the Oakland arts space Ghost Ship. There are still 30 people missing with very little hope they will be found alive. My Facebook feed is filled with sorrow and despair. Even after all these years it hits too close to home.
Looking at the pictures it’s unsurprising the place erupted in flames. It’s a beautiful death trap. I hope this is a wakeup call for all DIY venues, including punk, rock, and rap spaces like many that exist here in Brooklyn, to take precautions and consider people’s safety not as an inconvenience but a matter of basic consideration. And if a venue seems unsafe to you, make sure you know where the exits are and complain to organizers if you can.
Rest in peace you beautiful weirdos :(
I can’t sum it up any better (except my scariest experience was witnessing a shooting at a renegade...the same night my ‘sober driver’ was on acid and took the keys to ghost ride the whip in my Nissan Maxima). Reeling over the Ghost Ship fire and the beautiful souls lost. The Bay Area electronic scene shaped my youth, and I’m so disturbed by this loss. Can’t help thinking that could have been us a decade ago at the Noodle Factory....
Rita Hayworth photographed by Peter Stackpole, 1940
A plea
A note to the universe