Some Precariously Perched WAVES Aircraft Mechanics Working On The Port Outboard Pratt & Whitney R-2000

CATE BLANCHETT in “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” (2008, dir. David Fincher) → Costume Design by Jacqueline West

Anaïs Nin, from Incest: From a Journal of Love [ID in alt text]

somewhere someone waits up for you. somewhere someone takes their phone off silent with the hopes of catching your call. somewhere a roomful of people plan for your return. somewhere an audience waits to applaud you, is applauding you, will applaud you for your rest of your life. and i know you swear you’re no heart-stopping beauty queen but the ones who love you still look for you first in a crowded room. still watch you, eagerly waiting for your eyes to light up with the next joke you’ll tell. or for the smile that tells them you’re okay after all. this is your fame. this is your legacy. you were loved in this world if only for a moment. and now you’re starting to forget. back then, you imagined your life as a series of miracles and you waited for it to all happen to you. but your heart caught up with the world and stopped dreaming so big. or so loud. and you folded yourself away and never told anyone how scared you were of everything. and you thought, this is it. this is the rest of my life. i’ll live on the sidelines of love and ill laugh at the right parts of the story. and it worked for a while, but you knew it couldn’t last. you, expert daydreamer. you, cynical romantic. you who once fed the birds on the stoop, knowing it would make their flight a little easier. you, who kept the light on because it helped your best friend sleep. you who smiled at the cashier like you meant it, because you did mean it. you who led the river home. you who the sky stared back at. you who the moon followed. you are not as small as you think nor are your fears as large. someday you will turn the tea kettle on, you will open the windows, you will breathe deeply and you will move forward. you will thank the ordinary things for bringing you back to the miracle of yourself. and you will waver and see a flicker of the dark calling you back and maybe you will get lost in it. but you will be found again and found again and found again.

Adam Sackler’s dance of frustration

terrible summaries of classical lit

plato’s apology: adult toddler sentenced to death for being pedantic asshole, asks “why”

the aeneid: man fucks up at every possible opportunity, generally has bad time

the iliad: manchild sulks excessively at slight to honor, hundreds dead as a result

the odyssey: man uses wiles to return home after war, ruins lives of everyone around him

the satyricon: if we could tell you what the hell is going on, we would

medea: loathsome toad abandons wife, ensuing custody battle has body count

herodotus’s histories: the history channel is older than you think it is

commentary on the gallic wars: man speaks in third person about encounters with other cultures and how he mercilessly destroyed them

oedipus the king: man unwittingly sleeps with mother, psychologist centuries later jerks off to the concept

traditional celtic folk music makes me go buck fucking wild. i don’t know what it is, if it’s just in my blood or if it’s a past life or just ‘cause it’s objectively soulful but I hear that fiddle and I immediately transform into this heartbroken irish widow in 1787 with a shawl draped over my shoulders staring over the cliffs of moher, waiting for my ghostly lover to return from sea

william finally rendering noora speechless

funny scenes - otp: n&w [5:1] 1x11

Fucking hell, you’re so beautiful.

Elizaveta Boyarskaya, Viktoriya Isakova