The Adventures of the Rogue Art Historian

The misfit adventures of this rogue art historian are valued and kept secret. These gems are true black pearls which have found their way away from the salty dark water to your face... lick them, stick them, devour them and enjoy...

I don’t give a shit what the world thinks. I was born a bitch, I was born a painter, I was born fucked. But I was happy in my way. You did not understand what I am. I am love. I am pleasure, I am essence, I am an idiot, I am an alcoholic, I am tenacious. I am; simply I am…You are a shit.

—Frida Kahlo, from an unsent letter to Diego Rivera (via redwinerivers)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via darlingjustbehuman)

Last chance to #vote for @shaybredimus for @ocweekly #ocartopia #Artopia event and issue! Show your support and vote for Shay by texting OCART25 to 61721 or go online and vote—you can see some of his work and his profile at ocweekly.com/artopia2014

Last chance to #vote for @shaybredimus for @ocweekly #ocartopia #Artopia event and issue! Show your support and vote for Shay by texting OCART25 to 61721 or go online and vote—you can see some of his work and his profile at ocweekly.com/artopia2014

I Want it Off

I want to turn it off,
this pulsing, 
oozing—
can’t believe no one else can see it—
urgent
pain.
I want it gone.
Not the people responsible,
not him.
He is everything
right in this world;
but me.
I want it off.
Shut the fuck up
heart!
Fuck off!
Fuck you
and fuck
everything you’ve ever done to me…
You mean nothing
to me.
So fucking shut up
already.
Hear me!
I am a force 
To be reckoned with.
Stop taking everything from me
And let me live
in peace.
I am not 
supposed to be
this affected.
I am made of steel
and forged in the 
fires
of Atlantis.
I am a goddess
and you treat me like I 
am mush.
Tugging
and pulling 
on me,
around every single…
—I don’t want to.
Why must you make me?
Why do I mean so little you
you
that you force me 
to suffer?
…How do I turn it off?
Someone please tell me
how do turn it off!
I will die here,
alone 
and writhing
in my own 
pink,
sweet,
oozing
love…
Unable to feel anything
but sheer agony
and pain;
with my heart
in pieces
so small
they look like granules of sand,
only sharp enough to
cut,
and they do.
I want it off.

I Want it Off

I want to turn it off,
this pulsing,
oozing—
can’t believe no one else can see it—
urgent
pain.
I want it gone.
Not the people responsible,
not him.
He is everything
right in this world;
but me.
I want it off.
Shut the fuck up
heart!
Fuck off!
Fuck you
and fuck
everything you’ve ever done to me…
You mean nothing
to me.
So fucking shut up
already.
Hear me!
I am a force
To be reckoned with.
Stop taking everything from me
And let me live
in peace.
I am not
supposed to be
this affected.
I am made of steel
and forged in the
fires
of Atlantis.
I am a goddess
and you treat me like I
am mush.
Tugging
and pulling
on me,
around every single…
—I don’t want to.
Why must you make me?
Why do I mean so little you
you
that you force me
to suffer?
…How do I turn it off?
Someone please tell me
how do turn it off!
I will die here,
alone
and writhing
in my own
pink,
sweet,
oozing
love…
Unable to feel anything
but sheer agony
and pain;
with my heart
in pieces
so small
they look like granules of sand,
only sharp enough to
cut,
and they do.
I want it off.

awkwardsituationist:

for ten years now, leonid tishkov has traveled the world with his moon. here we see him in arctic svalbard magdalene fjord (1,5,7), new zealand, near rangitito (second photo, taken by marcus williams), the tian shang observatory near the border between china and kyrgyzstan (third photo, by po-i chen) and moscow (4,6,8, taken by boris bendikov)

"the moon is a shining point that brings people together from different countries, of different nationalities and cultures - and everyone who gets in its orbit does not forget it ever. it gives fairytale and poetry in our prosy and mercantile world," leonid writes. "the moon helps us to overcome our loneliness in the universe by uniting us around it."

leonid adds, “the ancient ural peoples who lived in my home told a fairy tale about how a shaman goes into the next world, illuminating the path of the moon. so in all of my photos, i can be seen in my late father’s cloak, because he travels with me in this way.”

(via acrylicalchemy)

She turned her back on all she knew. The Moon—her love, her family, her world—had betrayed her. She had no faith left.

She turned her back on all she knew. The Moon—her love, her family, her world—had betrayed her. She had no faith left.