i. ii. iii. Networks
Vous êtes belles mais vous êtes vides on ne peut pas mourir pour vous.


Tricorn Centre, Portsmouth, UK, 1965
(Owen Luder Partnership)


Moshe Safdie


House in the garden at MoMA, Marcel Breuer, 1949.


The stones of Örelid, an Iron Age burial ground with standing stones in a field of rye, Sweden, 1930

This book is so shit why did i even bought it i hate fiction.

8 . 30

I woke up this morning for three minutes. I rolled out of bed, put on my slippers, and stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. That was all I could take. I went back to sleep. I didn’t go back to bed. I just went back to sleep. I slept all day. I sleep most days. I’m asleep when I go to school, asleep when I’m telling the barista which form of caffeine I prefer. It never wakes me up, but I spend $3.50 on it anyway. I’m asleep when my professors are talking, asleep when I go to the store to pick up milk. Sometimes I wake up, but it’s terrifying so I go back to sleep right away. I want to wake up. I want to have a reason to wake up.
I brush my teeth every night before bed and wonder how many times I will brush my teeth before they are clean enough to never brush again. I eat lunch and wonder how much more I will have to eat until I’m full enough to never eat again. It’s easy to sleep through routine; I guess that’s why I stay here. I wish I could be done with this life so I could finally sleep properly.

—  Marianna Paige (via wordsthat-speak)

(via 2amconversations)

8 . 30

Anonymous: you're really beautiful

Thank you!

8 . 30

Anonymous: I have the same problems.

Which are your problems sweet pea?

8 . 30

Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun-drenched Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely quotable. Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always shit. You cannot romanticize hurt. Or sadness. Or loneliness. You will have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything will suck - and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way. And there is no divine consolation - only the knowledge that we will hopefully experience the full spectrum - and that sometimes, just sometimes, life will feel like a Coppola film.

—  Letters From Nowhere   (via excrutiate)

(via 2amconversations)

8 . 30


London 1934
Photo: Wolf Suschitzki 


All hail the queen of never being able to move on.

(via soulmind-body)

8 . 30


by effixx on Flickr.