lemon

tim kinsella is the shit.

This is a fashion post. 

weirdfriends:

Rags to Richesse: Rugs from Morocco at Cavin-Morris Gallery 

Wild, Not Woolly

milkfloat: (via spacesplatter)

that face looks Etruscan.

haha

light eyes

@ the bishop 

MAPS & ATLASES + TERA MELOS TONIGHT TONIGHT!

headed to bloomington this evening :)

can’t wait to see Josh, too :D

i am 
maybe a villain,
seasoned as one
of the black locust mysteriosos
with sharp spines unnoticed,
warmly familiar with
details
strategic games
and logic.

haha horrible
indifference.

forestal speculation 

god is Sasquatch.
a single vagabond
aggregate land animal
perhaps disguised as an unrevised
image, unseen but heard (or so some say),
and yet despite the obsession
nobody knows him.

good drab morning 

dreaming i’m awake again (rising to rationalizing discrepancies); ok alarm i’m up and stumbling, despite no pants i’m looking ready already or so says the mirror; water chug x2; front door opens to shades of gray and saturation so chilly nearly frosty it makes me ache but sunny inside; hood up, sitting close to the steering wheel mean mugging dicks in trucks; listening twice (that intro’s too good to hear just once i wish i could name these notes); a single sad displaced branch of pine (evergreen so green) reminds me of cezanne; some construction men in sweatshirts and hardhats look scruffy sexy strong and masculine; these redheaded girls all have the same similar details making them strangely attractive but gross and creepy in the same; soft chubby girls who carry their weight well have pretty faces and nice hair; my knuckles keep bleeding having to bend; i’m always late; doors always opening and closing; everyone is everywhere; everything is all at once.