"gentle reminder that cleopatra’s beauty is rumored to have started wars in ancient history" — a post going around Tumblr

Actually Cleopatra was said to have not actually been that beautiful — men said that until she opened her mouth, she was simply average. What made her…

One of my favorite things I ever came across at the MET museum. Julia Margaret Cameron (1815-1879) is, arguably, one of the greatest portraitists in the history of photography. This photo is called The Parting of Guinivere and Lancelot, 1874.

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Albert Bierstadt, Storm in the Mountains, 1870

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“Where Western tales begin by shifting us to another time—’Once upon a time’ they say, meaning elsewhen, meaning then rather than now—Russian skazki make an adjustment of place. ‘In a certain land’, they start; or, ‘In the three-times-ninth kingdom …’ Meaning elsewhere, meaning there rather than here. Yet these elsewheres are always recognisable as home. In the distance will always be a wood-walled town where the churches have onion domes. The ruler will always be a Tsar, Ivan or Vladimir. The earth is always black. The sky is always wide. It’s Russia, always Russia, the dear dreadful enormous territory at the edge of Europe which is as large as all Europe put together. And, also, it isn’t. It is story Russia, not real Russia; a place never quite in perfect overlap with the daylight country of the same name. It is as near to it as a wish is to reality, and as far away too. For the tales supplied what the real country lacked, when villagers were telling them and Afanaseyev was writing them down.

Real Russia’s fields grew scraggy crops of buckwheat and rye. Story Russia had magic tablecloths serving feasts without end. Real Russia’s roads were mud and ruts. Story Russia abounded in tools of joyful velocity: flying carpets, genies of the rushing air, horses that scarcely bent the ground they galloped on. Real Russia fixed its people in sluggish social immobility. Story Russia sent its lively boys to seek the Firebird or to woo the Swan Maiden. The stories dreamed away reality’s defects. They made promises good enough to last for one evening of firelight; promises which the teller and the hearers knew could only be delivered in some Russian otherwhere. They could come true only in the version of home where the broke-backed trestle over the stream became ‘a bridge of white hazelwood with oaken planks, spread with purple cloths and nailed with copper nails’. Only in the wish country, the dream country. Only in the twenty-seventh kingdom.”
Red Plenty, Francis Spufford   (via beholdatimemachine)

(via everythingdolls)



The Way a Poem of Ady’s Began on a Cafe Table in Paris, 1928, Andre Kertesz

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  • me: *looks over field* we only get 6, 7 notes most of the time
  • me: *single tear* but we're honest prairie bloggers, same as anyone else
“Never, never tell them. Try and remember that. Never tell anyone anything ever. Never tell anyone anything again.”
Ernest Hemingway, from The Garden Of Eden (via violentwavesofemotion)

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this makes me cry of laughter every time

Every time I go to McDonald’s, and get straws I tell my sister, “Y’know David Bowie probably touched these.”  Then we laugh, and people look at us strange, and then we laugh harder.

(via showingpeoplethings)

“He likes his women bad, not cheap.”
— Pepper (Ricki Lake, in Cry Baby)

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I want a movie about a kid who just so happens to be born a Classic Gothic Hero, but in modern day. His name would be like Byron Dangerfield or something. 

Whenever he has EMOTIONS, there are claps of thunder and lightning. Every time he leans against a piece of furniture, it turns out to open a secret passageway leading to some dark secret, until eventually he’s just like “REALLY, GUYS?” All bad dreams are prophetic, even if it’s just that Starbucks will be out of pumpkin spice syrup the next day. Every girl he talks to swoons a lot and has a tyrannical heavy-browed father who are all played by the same actor. Ravens flock around him.

There are inexplicably paintings with moving eyes and moving suits of armor everywhere he goes, even McDonalds. Every time he moves to a new apartment, there is ALWAYS a screaming woman chained up in the room above his, and she invariably sets the place on fire. He’s so over it.

#finallyasuperheroIcouldbe #abiography #orSHE

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OK first you’re being a total dick right now,

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Geometry Matters:

Various nature elements that abide by geometric laws and construction patterns.

© Geometrymatters,2014

Reblogged for the Visualizing Math followers that are fans of Sacred Geometry.


bo burnham being a sassy little shit on twitter part 1/5

(via lugubrious-cacophony)


“According to the universal laws, the magician will form his own point of view about the universe which henceforth will be his true religion.”
—  Franz Bardon, “Initiation into Hermetics”


“According to the universal laws, the magician will form his own point of view about the universe which henceforth will be his true religion.”

Franz Bardon, “Initiation into Hermetics”

(via twolionss)