I love love

gangster nórdico

tinha visto antes de ter um blog pra postar. lembrei que rap e sueco são coisas que combinam MUITO. Petter é um rapper da Suécia que chegou a estudar história da arte na Universidade de Uppsala. amey com bigodão e tudo. a cantora Veronica Maggio (uma versão élfica de Regina Spektor) aparece nesse clipe de óculos fundo de garrafa (e mesmo assim continua gata).

gente, assistam.

colar de mickey

gente, COLAR DE MICKEY. alguém me dá?!

luna

"Luna Lombardi é prova de que DNA fashion a gente não nega. Filha de Giácomo "Vide Bula" Lombardi e Adriana Rios, a jovem fotógrafa se formou designer gráfica na Austrália em 2003 e fez vários cursos na área fotografia."

if you want to survive

Happiness hit her like a train on a track
Coming towards her stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with her drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming
So you better run

Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your loving, your loving behind
You cant carry it with you if you want to survive

The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
'Cause here they come

And i never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had and what was left after that too, oh
Happiness hit her like a bullet in the mind
Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that

música: Dog Days Are Over - Florence and the Machine

fotografia: Fransceca Woodman

sobre ser uma caixinha

Anton Tang

medo

cachoeira

via morgana

dancinha

eu PRECISO ensaiar isso pra alguma festa

colorido

clica aqui, pelo amor de Deus.

edge

the woman is perfected.
her dead
body wears the smile of accomplishment,
the illusion of a Greek necessity
flows in the scrolls of her toga,
her bare
feet seem to be saying:
we have come so far, it is over.
each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
one at each little
pitcher of milk, now empty.
she has folded
them back into her body as petals
of a rose close when the garden
stiffens and odors bleed
from the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.
the moon has nothing to be sad about,
staring from her hood of bone.
she is used to this sort of thing.
her blacks crackle and drag.






Sylvia Plath

oi, td bem?

o negócio é esperar a hora certa pra fazer a coisa errada. tenho vivido assim desde sempre. não que essa tática tenha funcionado muito, mas quando funciona até me sinto inteligente por ter feito uma estupidez correta.