Vitamin "I"
spaghettibastard:

Drrrrrrrryl
The green thingy he’s saying is a bastardization of the Mayan glyph “to scatter”. As in: “I’m gunn scatter yo atoms across the cosmos”

spaghettibastard:

Drrrrrrrryl

The green thingy he’s saying is a bastardization of the Mayan glyph “to scatter”. As in: “I’m gunn scatter yo atoms across the cosmos”

willigula:

Franz Joseph Land (Земля Франца-Иосифа)

bookshelfporn:

May there be many a day spent reading in front of a fireplace this winter for our Australian and New Zealand bookshelf lovers.

bookshelfporn:

May there be many a day spent reading in front of a fireplace this winter for our Australian and New Zealand bookshelf lovers.

iheartmyart:

Gareth Pugh, Spring 2012

iheartmyart:

Gareth Pugh, Spring 2012

blackhoudini:

winnr:

mercurialblonde:

deliciousironing:

Abstraction 1-9

Comics to make you give up trying to make comics by Shintaro Kago

JESUS

… fuck

patrickschierer:

Mozzarella Chair by Tatsuo Yamamoto.

animals-riding-animals:

tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise (assisted by man)

animals-riding-animals:

tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise riding tortoise (assisted by man)

dictionaryofobscuresorrows:

Gnossienne #3by reader Karin Josephine

gnossienne - n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand.
–The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

dictionaryofobscuresorrows:

Gnossienne #3
by reader Karin Josephine

gnossienne - n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand.

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows