Tippy-toe-420 - Sksksksksksk

Lin-Manuel Miranda, reblog if you agree.

Buckethead “Spokes for the Wheel of Torment”. Directed by Syd Garon & Eric Henry.

So Buckethead has someone send me some mp3’s of his new album without any comment or album art. I am struck by the “Spokes” track and I *instantly* visualize animated Hieronymus Bosch in my head. I scan a few of his paintings in and make a 15 second test animation. A week or so later I drive to Buckethead’s secret headquarters and play him the test. He freaks out and takes me into his recording area, right there on the wall is a huge Hieronymus Bosch poster. Buckethead had been imagining the painting coming to life when he wrote the song. This was one of the most effortless things I have ever done, it felt like it was meant to be. - Syd Garon

marker pliers saves the bisexuals

😲😂😂

I still want a whole ass movie tho

I made a difference in the world!

Taking the string off of your worm means that something bad will ensue.

Generosity makes you a happier person.

When is society gonna release new superstitions

like let's start some new superstitions

"if your buffalo wings have a broken bone in them, somebody has lied to you"

"if siri stops recognizing your voice, someone has cursed you"

"if your uber gets lost on the way to you, bad luck will befall you that week"

"a speaker that keeps disconnecting from bluetooth, a spirit is nearby"

keep it going

I. no one wants bruised fruit, no one wants a bruised child either; no one wants fruit with broken skin, no straight-line scars; no one wants cherry-pit eyes, too dark and too wide; no one wants pomegranate-half lungs, heaving, catacombed in trickles of red, no one wants peach juice lies, leftover sweetness still sticky, dripping from my chin, doesn’t match my eyes; no one wants this rotten fruit heart, too full, overripe, dripping to burst, too messy, stains too dark. flies buzz around as if constellations encircling me, filling the darkness in my chest. II. blood and blackberry juice are the same color; which one do you think stained my last summer? did i drip sweet or salty? was mine a summer of unripe fruit or overripe desire? hunger swelled in me but what kind? i scratch my wrists open with blackberry thorns, overripe heart waiting to burst, red trickling from my veins, unripe fruit still on the branch, red trickling from its seeds. this sounds like a poem about sex this is not a poem about sex, this is a poem about how hunger and hatred feel kinda the same, hollow out your belly the same, shudder your fingers the same, crack your lips the same. this is a poem about having a hatred for hunger and a hunger for hatred. my mouth is crowded with razors; i have thrown away my teeth.

JUICE by s.l. (via goldenveins)