Pseudonymous Bosch, The Name of this Book is Secret

Pseudonymous Bosch, The Name of this Book is Secret

"She removes her wig, her eyelashes, her makeup, never breaking eye contact with the reflection of her natural self. It’s an intimate, powerful moment television doesn’t often show: A black woman removing all the elements white supremacy tells her she has to wear to be beautiful, successful, powerful." (x)

pinmeupagainstthesky:

These, for me, are the two most depressing paintings in western history. They were painted by post-impressionist Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec, a man who, due to inbreeding, was born with a genetic disorder that prevented his legs from growing after they were broken. After being so thoroughly mocked for is appearance, he became an alcoholic, which is what eventually caused his institutionalization and death. His only known romantic relations were with prostitutes.

And then he paints something like this which is so beautiful and tender and sentimental. It seems like the couple in bed really loves each other—cares about each other. Wakes up happy to look at each other. And I see that love and passion and I wonder how lonely he must have been. I wonder how he could paint something like this without it breaking his heart. 

Maybe they say artists should create what they know, not because its unbelievable when they extend themselves beyond their experiences, but because when they pull it off with such elegance, it’s so damn unbearable to look at. I hate thinking of Lautrec, wondering about the lovers he created and knowing it was beyond his experience. Creating something that he knows is beautiful and knows he’ll never really understand. 

unofficiallyjuni:

fuckyeah-nerdery:

sigfodr:

A version for tumblr that can be read without opening a new tab, since plenty of people would scroll past this story otherwise.

The bravest woman on Earth.

I love her. Forever reblog.

lepreas:

mahramore:

shots fired

rockets launched

lepreas:

mahramore:

shots fired

rockets launched

toby melville mark smith mark smith luke millard mark smith greg morgan luke millard mark smith toby melville

nubbsgalore:

during the autumn rutting season, red deer stag find themselves with elaborate bracken crowns from having rubbed their heads against the ground, which they do to strengthen their neck muscles so as to help them in battle with those competing for the affections of the does. photos by (click pic) mark smith, toby melville, luke millward and greg morgan in london’s richmond park. (see also: more autumn rut in richmond park)

sleezed:

I really wanna fuck in a pool. Like the possibilities are endless. My god. But it’s like. Our pool. In our backyard you feel me. Boy. Bet I be eating pussy under water. That’s some wavy next level shit. Put on my goggles. And i’m gone. That’d be some shit if i’m eating her and she’s so into it and she feels me stop and is like ” baby ? ” and i’m on the other side of the pool floating dead. I forgot I needed air. Ain’t even come up smh

And when you choose a life partner, you’re choosing a lot of things, including your parenting partner and someone who will deeply influence your children, your eating companion for about 20,000 meals, your travel companion for about 100 vacations, your primary leisure time and retirement friend, your career therapist, and someone whose day you’ll hear about 18,000 times.

Intense shit.

Wait But Why - How to Pick Your Life Partner (via tanghuijuan)