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(1/3) âI was a Prada-suit motherfucker. I was running a limousine company. But when the last financial crisis hit, I lost all my lines of credit and the whole thing came apart. I felt too old to start again. My wife would come home from work and find me still in my pajamas, reading magazines and newspapers. This was in August, when school really starts to crank up. So I kept seeing these articles about underfunded schools: no art, no gym, no music. My kids went to private school, so these conditions were hard for me to imagine. It seemed sensational. So one morning I got on the subway and took it to 135th street in Harlem. I couldnât have been more arrogant. I walked through the doors of the first elementary school I could find, asked for the principal, and said: âIâm here to try to break the cycle of poverty.â She assigned me to the lunchroom, and thatâs where I started volunteering five days a week. I was just going from table to table, talking to the kids. But they gravitated toward me. They listened to me. They called me âMr. Tony.â At home I was just âDad.â I was kinda a dick. I was old news. But Mr. Tony was bigger than Barack Obama. These kids loved the shit out of me. I had nothing to give, nothing to promise. But they acted like I was Santa Claus. Each one of them reminded me of my own kids. It was the exact same goofiness. So when I learned that almost half of them were living in homeless shelters, that shit drove me crazy. It tore me up. I was looking for some way to help, anything. Across the street from the school was an old community garden that had been abandoned. It was full of junk: car over here, engine over there. The kids called it the âhaunted garden,â cause it was nothing but cats, rats, and scary old people. So I contacted the Parks Department. I did the paperwork. I got the license and the key. Then I started hauling out the junk, one piece at a time. It took me six weeks. The kids kept asking me what I was planning to do, but I had no idea. Then one morning a little girl tugged on my shoulder. A tiny little thing with glasses so big. Her name was Nevaeh. âHeavenâ spelled backwards. And she said: âMr. Tony, why donât we plant something?â
East of Eden, Kobayashi Kiyochika
Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say What was this forest savage, rough, and stern, Which in the very thought renews the fear.
So bitter is it, death is little more; But of the good to treat, which there I found, Speak will I of the other things I saw there.
I cannot well repeat how there I entered, So full was I of slumber at the moment In which I had abandoned the true way.
But after I had reached a mountainâs foot, At that point where the valley terminated, Which had with consternation pierced my heart,
Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders, Vested already with that planetâs rays Which leadeth others right by every road.
Then was the fear a little quieted That in my heartâs lake had endured throughout The night, which I had passed so piteously.
And even as he, who, with distressful breath, Forth issued from the sea upon the shore, Turns to the water perilous and gazes;
So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward, Turn itself back to re-behold the pass Which never yet a living person left.
After my weary body I had rested, The way resumed I on the desert slope, So that the firm foot ever was the lower.
And lo! almost where the ascent began, A panther light and swift exceedingly, Which with a spotted skin was covered o'er!
And never moved she from before my face, Nay, rather did impede so much my way, That many times I to return had turned.
The time was the beginning of the morning, And up the sun was mounting with those stars That with him were, what time the Love Divine
At first in motion set those beauteous things; So were to me occasion of good hope, The variegated skin of that wild beast,
The hour of time, and the delicious season; But not so much, that did not give me fear A lionâs aspect which appeared to me.
He seemed as if against me he were coming With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger, So that it seemed the air was afraid of him;
And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings Seemed to be laden in her meagreness, And many folk has caused to live forlorn!
She brought upon me so much heaviness, With the affright that from her aspect came, That I the hope relinquished of the height.
And as he is who willingly acquires, And the time comes that causes him to lose, Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent,
E'en such made me that beast withouten peace, Which, coming on against me by degrees Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent.
While I was rushing downward to the lowland, Before mine eyes did one present himself, Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.
When I beheld him in the desert vast, âHave pity on me,â unto him I cried, âWhiche'er thou art, or shade or real man!â
He answered me: âNot man; man once I was, And both my parents were of Lombardy, And Mantuans by country both of them.
âSub Julioâ was I born, though it was late, And lived at Rome under the good Augustus, During the time of false and lying gods.
A poet was I, and I sang that just Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy, After that Ilion the superb was burned.
But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance? Why climb'st thou not the Mount Delectable, Which is the source and cause of every joy?â
âNow, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?â I made response to him with bashful forehead.
âO, of the other poets honour and light, Avail me the long study and great love That have impelled me to explore thy volume!
Thou art my master, and my author thou, Thou art alone the one from whom I took The beautiful style that has done honour to me.
Behold the beast, for which I have turned back; Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage, For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.â
âThee it behoves to take another road,â Responded he, when he beheld me weeping, âIf from this savage place thou wouldst escape;
Because this beast, at which thou criest out, Suffers not any one to pass her way, But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;
And has a nature so malign and ruthless, That never doth she glut her greedy will, And after food is hungrier than before.
Many the animals with whom she weds, And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain.
He shall not feed on either earth or pelf, But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue; 'Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be;
Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour, On whose account the maid Camilla died, Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds;
Through every city shall he hunt her down, Until he shall have driven her back to Hell, There from whence envy first did let her loose.
Therefore I think and judge it for thy best Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide, And lead thee hence through the eternal place,
Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations, Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate, Who cry out each one for the second death;
And thou shalt see those who contented are Within the fire, because they hope to come, Whene'er it may be, to the blessed people;
To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend, A soul shall be for that than I more worthy; With her at my departure I will leave thee;
Because that Emperor, who reigns above, In that I was rebellious to his law, Wills that through me none come into his city.
He governs everywhere, and there he reigns; There is his city and his lofty throne; O happy he whom thereto he elects!â
And I to him: âPoet, I thee entreat, By that same God whom thou didst never know, So that I may escape this woe and worse,
Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said, That I may see the portal of Saint Peter, And those thou makest so disconsolate.â
Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.
â-
Inferno - Canto 1
Dante Alighieri  c.1265-1321
â-
Graphic - Edward OkuĆ Â 1872-1945
Volume Rendering CT scans by voxel123Â
SUBMISSION SUNDAY // Amazing photograph, âAlligatorâ [model @ari_amaru] by @yuki.t_photography.⣠⣠Tag us to be considered for inclusion in our âJoin the Tribeâ community feature in Beautiful Bizarre Magazine + each Sunday our Social Media Manager chooses her favourites and shares them with our 1M+ social media followers !âŁâŁâŁ âŠâŁ posted on Instagram - https://instagr.am/p/CHTtvCegkaD/
Red Fields of South Korea  Photography by Seung-Ki Kim
Ichiro Tsuruta (b. 1954)
This reads and looks like a classic monthy python sketch but its actually from a 2000s german movie.
A 2000s german SCI-FI movie.
Air.âCome with me, and we will go Where the rocks of coral grow.
Come with me and we will blow Lots of bubbles as we go; Bubbles bright as ever Hope Drew from fancyâor from soap; Bright as e'er the South Sea sent From its frothy element! Come with me and we will blow Lots of bubbles as we go. Mix the lather, Johnny Wilks, Thou, who rhym'st so well to bilks; Mix the latherâwho can be Fitter for such tasks than thee, Great M. P. for Sudsbury!
Now the frothy charm is ripe, Puffing Peter, bring thy pipe,â Thou whom ancient Coventry Once so dearly loved that she Knew not which to her was sweeter, Peeping Tom or Puffing Peter;â Puff the bubbles high in air, Puff thy best to keep them there.
Bravo, bravo, Peter More! Now the rainbow humbugs soar. Glittering all with golden hues Such as haunt the dreams of Jews;â Some reflecting mines that lie Under Chiliâs glowing sky, Some, those virgin pearls that sleep Cloistered in the southern deep; Others, as if lent a ray From the streaming Milky Way, Glistening o'er with curds and whey From the cows of Alderney.
Nowâs the momentâwho shall first Catch the bubbles ere they burst? Run, ye Squires, ye Viscounts, run, Brogden, Teynham, Palmerston;â John Wilks junior runs beside ye! Take the good the knaves provide ye! See, with upturned eyes and hands, Where the Shareman, Brogden, stands, Gaping for the froth to fall Down his gulletâlye and all. See!â
But, hark, my time is outâ Now, like some great water-spout, Scattered by the cannonâs thunder, Burst ye bubbles, all asunder!
â-
An Incantation. Sung By The Bubble Spirit.
Thomas Moore  1779-1852
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Graphic - Darian Rodriguez Mederos  (B.1992)
âSo come here. Let me love those bruises out of you. Weâll love like children with a box of bandages- we wonât ask where it hurts. Weâll just kiss all of it.â
â Ashe Vernon, from âRobinâs egg heart(break)â (via drearydoll)
Thick Technicolor Paint Oozes Over Subjectsâ Faces in Mesmerizing New Portraits by Tim Tadder
This painting makes me so excited to start travelling after all this has resolved, to keep experiencing new cultures! ⣠.⣠âRagsâ by @andreyremnev⣠.⣠.⣠posted on Instagram - https://instagr.am/p/CGPsdzFjQz3/
Kitchen(1970)
Flower boy
by Connor Sheehan