(Source: lipgallagher, via phuuuuu)

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Sorry Plum Sykes, you’re no longer #1 on my Vogue ShitList.

arod:

I don’t know why I keep reading American Vogue — the editorials are bland, the covers uninspiring (seriously, who is Sienna Miller fucking to keep getting them?!), and the articles insipid at best. I should really just save the money and put it towards the British and Australian versions that are so bad for my wallet (but so so pretty!). While I’ve always had a special place of rage in my heart for Plum Sykes — the woman has made a career out of being a literary idiot — this month’s issue took it one step further.

Maggie McGuane first came to my attention with this balanced piece of sensive writing, but this month’s article about the perils of not being able to buy $300 earrings on a whim literally made my stomach churn. I think this is the first time I can ever remember ripping out pages from a magazine because they offended me so much.

Congratulations Maggie, you’re officially a bigger tool than the woman who wrote Bergdorf Blondes.

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I have never loved a woman for herself alone, but because I was caught up in the time with her, between train arrivals and train departures and other commitments. I have loved because she was beautiful and we were two humans lying in the forest at the edge of a dark lake or because she was not beautiful and we were two humans walking between buildings who understood something about suffering. I have loved because so many loved her or because so many were indifferent to her, or to make her believe that she was a girl in a meadow upon whose approved knees I laid my head or to make her believe that I was saint and that she had been loved by a saint. I never told a woman I liked her and when I wrote the words “My love”, I never meant it to mean “I love you”.
Leonard Cohen, Poems Written / While Dying of Love (via just-dandy) (via lolitaleigh) ()
kerrielisabeth: symbiosis: morgaaannn: (via mollyisalreadytaken)

kerrielisabeth:

symbiosis:

morgaaannn:

(via mollyisalreadytaken)
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rosalee: The House That Inspired Up! One of the items I mentioned in last week’s feature, Easter Eggs in Pixar’s Up, was that Carl Fredricksen’s house was inspired by a Victorian house near Sixth Street in Berkeley, CA. After spending a good half hour virtually driving down the street on Google Maps, I came across a home that might have been the inspiration, but didn’t really look like the house from the film. Turns out, it wasn’t the house that inspired Carl’s house in the movie. The awesome guys at SFGate actually drove around Berkley and Oakland, and found what I believe must be the house that inspired the film. The house they discovered not only has a lot of architectural similarities, but is also jacked up about ten feet off the ground, and it appears to have been in this condition for quite some time. It does look a whole lot like it!

rosalee:

The House That Inspired Up!

One of the items I mentioned in last week’s feature, Easter Eggs in Pixar’s Up, was that Carl Fredricksen’s house was inspired by a Victorian house near Sixth Street in Berkeley, CA. After spending a good half hour virtually driving down the street on Google Maps, I came across a home that might have been the inspiration, but didn’t really look like the house from the film. Turns out, it wasn’t the house that inspired Carl’s house in the movie.

The awesome guys at SFGate actually drove around Berkley and Oakland, and found what I believe must be the house that inspired the film. The house they discovered not only has a lot of architectural similarities, but is also jacked up about ten feet off the ground, and it appears to have been in this condition for quite some time.

It does look a whole lot like it!

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Love by Pablo Neruda

kari-shma:

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming 
Flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring. 
I have forgotten your face, I no longer 
Remember your hands; how did your lips 
Feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues
Drowsing in the parks, the white statues that 
Have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; 
I have forgotten your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to 
My vague memory of you. I live with pain 
That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
Make to me an irreperable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing 
Vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to 
Glimpse you in every window. 

Because of you, the heady perfumes of 
Summer pain me; because of you, I again 
Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:
Shooting stars, falling objects.
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(via seductiontheory)

(via seductiontheory)

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lolitaleigh: fckthechampagne: (via givemeantlers)

lolitaleigh:

fckthechampagne:

(via givemeantlers)
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So I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Till then my windows ache.
Pablo Neruda  (via lolitaleigh) ()
(via lenabean)

(via lenabean)

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