Jakob Tuggener: Heimkehr nach dem Rennen,Bern,1949
Return from the Race,Berne,1949
Jakob Tuggener Stiftung
(via hollyhocksandtulips)
viacurious reblogged your post: Every time I see Teena Byrd in the Marilyn Manson tag, I become more and more close to a brain aneurysm.
HOLY SHIT EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE NOW Okay, So I was an extra on a movie once in NY and Teena Byrd (I didn’t know who she…HOLY LORD O____________________________O
reblogging because #ThrowbackThursdays
but honestly. This was cray
I’m no feminist, but gagging over the sexist book cover here. #IHadADream females and film wouldn’t be such a #Cinematherapy ~~~ combo
If Boston University isn’t giving a 3.9 GPA student with an EFC of $0 any scholarships whatsoever who the heck are they giving it to?
All the more motivation to get successful as all heck and tell everyone just how much BU didn’t give you
I know you’re all feeling the darkness here today, but there’s no reason to give in.
(Source: jennalouisess)
Seeing him for the first time in months today. Meeting for coffee in some random suburb with a name that sounds like the setting for a one-hour drama. Wish me luck! Hope it’s fun instead of god awful, fingers crossed.
Like I said hate the text posts but since I posted about it when it happened I feel the need to post until this plot reaches its conclusion. Merpity.
Fucking Fact: this life and everyone in it has driven me batshit insane.
“Nostalgia literally means the pain from an old wound. It’s a twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn’t a spaceship, it’s a time machine. It goes backwards, and forwards…it takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It’s not called the wheel, It’s called the carousel. It let’s us travel the way a child travels - around and around, and back home again, to a place where we know we are loved”.
- Don Draper, Mad Men (The Wheel)
aros:
Breuer/Lundberg Cabin. LUNDBERG DESIGN
livestock tank pool. 25-feet diameter and 14-feet deep.
(via 87daysbefore)
There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams—not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.
(Source: makeanewstart, via 87daysbefore)
NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY