Saturday, January 28, 2012

(Source: risingtensions)

Friday, January 27, 2012

mutualaddiction:

We’re All Gonna Die- ANDREW JACKSON JIHAD

(Source: camoisdead)

(Source: e-m-p-t-y-s-e-t)

Thursday, January 26, 2012
bebelestrange:

sarafaridis:eviscerateyoungcaptain:black-hands:theshipthatflew:arsvitaest:sarawood:Jacket design by Civia Snow. First edition hardcover, Doubleday &  Company (1980).

bebelestrange:

sarafaridis:eviscerateyoungcaptain:black-hands:theshipthatflew:arsvitaest:sarawood:Jacket design by Civia Snow. First edition hardcover, Doubleday & Company (1980).

Monday, January 23, 2012
Sleep. Those little slices of death. How I loathe them.

Edgar Allan Poe

(colettesaintyves)

Total Distortion Game Over Screen: Pop Rocket Pop Up Edition (by thezoed)

Saturday, January 21, 2012
You are a little soul carrying around a corpse. Epictetus  (via sisterwolf)

(Source: vashti)

Friday, January 20, 2012
sadburro:

Death and the Girls
Donya Todd

sadburro:

Death and the Girls

Donya Todd

It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig. Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me. When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic. No rhetoric, no tremolos, no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell. And of course, no theology, no metaphysics. Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light. So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling, on tiptoes and no luggage, not even a sponge bag, completely unencumbered. Aldous Huxley, Island (via vulturechow)

(Source: theuniverseworks)

Monday, January 16, 2012
Untitled 1 by Sally Mann.  
Mann’s images from the What Remains series were used to illustrate the New York Times article Dead Men Talking by Lawrence Osborne which tells the story of a research facility in Knoxville, Tennessee that studies forensic decomposition of bodies by studying corpses as they decompose in a two acre field.  Mann’s photos were shot at the facility.

We stop by a bloated woman, her body turned a scabrous orange and cranberry red, her ankles thinned almost to the bone. ”Eventually, we want to make a complete atlas of decomposition,” Marks says. ”We take digital photographs of the process every three hours. We want to know exactly what happens when your body rots.” We pause to stare at the woman’s perfectly preserved hand clenched into an eternal fist. ”Death is a process, not an event,” he adds softly. ”It’s beautiful if you consider it calmly. It’s Nature at work. I mean, I love that woman’s hand. I often stop and admire it.” He reaches down with his own hand sheathed in a surgical glove and strokes the mortified knuckles. ”To me, there’s nothing horrific in all this. Nothing whatsoever.”

Untitled 1 by Sally Mann.  

Mann’s images from the What Remains series were used to illustrate the New York Times article Dead Men Talking by Lawrence Osborne which tells the story of a research facility in Knoxville, Tennessee that studies forensic decomposition of bodies by studying corpses as they decompose in a two acre field.  Mann’s photos were shot at the facility.

We stop by a bloated woman, her body turned a scabrous orange and cranberry red, her ankles thinned almost to the bone. ”Eventually, we want to make a complete atlas of decomposition,” Marks says. ”We take digital photographs of the process every three hours. We want to know exactly what happens when your body rots.” We pause to stare at the woman’s perfectly preserved hand clenched into an eternal fist. ”Death is a process, not an event,” he adds softly. ”It’s beautiful if you consider it calmly. It’s Nature at work. I mean, I love that woman’s hand. I often stop and admire it.” He reaches down with his own hand sheathed in a surgical glove and strokes the mortified knuckles. ”To me, there’s nothing horrific in all this. Nothing whatsoever.”

Sunday, January 15, 2012

(Source: snowce)