things could be worse

hausofversailles:

If you haven’t seen “In Time” starring Justin Timberlake, Amanda Seyfriend, Cillian Murphy, Olivia Wilde, Matt Bomer, Alex Pettyfer and so much more, then you’re missing out on an epic movie/concept. If the casting itself doesn’t give you the incentive to watch this then just imagine this: a world where where time has become the ultimate currency. You stop aging at 25, but there’s a catch: you’re genetically-engineered to live only one more year, unless you can buy your way out of it. The rich “earn” decades at a time (remaining at age 25), becoming essentially immortal, while the rest beg, borrow or steal enough hours to make it through the day. When a man from the wrong side of the tracks is falsely accused of murder, he is forced to go on the run with a beautiful hostage. Living minute to minute, the duo’s love becomes a powerful tool in their war against the system.

To be honest, this was one of my favourite movies of all time. It was brilliantly executed and I can only hope they bring out a part 2 but I know they won’t :(

sharvondaphotog:

——-

My new favorite song.

voldemort-is-back:

Fuck Yeah Misfits on We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/22756836

steampunkroyale:

cumberbitchsandwich:

oddlyenough—no:

cumberbitchsandwich:

dementir:

A candle that smells like books.

How novel.

That’s fucking romantic as hell.

If anyone gave this to me I would ugly cry tears of joy. Oh my god. Please? Someone. Anyone. Birthday present?

I can’t believe we don’t sell this at my bookstore. We sell a candle that’s supposed to smell like Edgar Allan Poe, for fuck’s sake.

…and what does an Edgar Allan Poe candle smell like….alcohol and despair?

Cardamom, absynthe and sandalwood actually lol. But I wouldn’t know if that’s accurate, I’ve never sniffed the man.

BRILLANT.

Lol^^ those comments!

sharvondaphotog:

childhood-nostalgia:

If you didn’t play this game as a kid you had zero imagination.

——-

….yea, until my mom yelled “GET YOUR FEET OF MY GOTDAMN FURNITURE!!”

Imagination PWNED. 

(Source: littletumblebee)

(Source: bshepjr, via hausofversailles)

On a lighter note, I’ve just noticed I’ve got no eyebrows or arms in this piece I made.

I’m such a procrastinator.

Anyone want a simple vector illustration made?

I wanted to start back working on Sam’s Black Keys piece with this quiet weekend I’ve had alone. Instead I berated everyone around me, hawked two little blue pills (or were they white) off of my neighbor, and passed out watching episode after episode of Intervention. My art is gone. Where has it all gone?

Into my secret hatred for Sam. Into the past that I’m longing to return to. Back to MSU. Back to Avery and Whitney and Finas and Brody and a vast array of faces that only laughed and made sure I had everything I needed. My art is in my Nikon D40 I pawned and have no desire to buy another. My art is pent up potential on this Mac that I walk by everyday, but don’t have the energy to actually connect to the internet to create design. My life is in the small steps that I take and later regret even picking up my foot to do it.

I must go see my child. He smiles when I walk through the door. Like he’s never seen me before. No one else does that. If I’m around and he’s not, no one looks at me. They wonder why I’ve even bothered coming around if I don’t have Puddin with me. I lock myself up with my mom in her room, hoping she’ll strike up some conversation with me. But it’s always about Puddin, not me. She noticed I’d begun growing my nails and painting them. She said, “Oh, that shows you’re not so stressed anymore.” Fingernails. They are a sign that you are happy. A good mother. A happy person. We should report this to the health department, therapists, and psych wards urging them to prescribe manicures not anti-depressants.

So maybe that’s why I can’t leave Sam. The person I hate the most. Because he says he loves me. And wants me there when he needs me there. He needs me to fill those fifteen minutes when he’s not busy with other people and things. Aren’t those fifteen minutes better than not feeling wanted by anyone else for zero minutes?

I tell Sam I wanna die. I don’t, but I hope that’ll give me 5 more minutes with him. One day I told him, I’m gonna do it. When I came home from work, not dead, there was a girl there. Holding my child. Sitting on the loveseat with Sam. They were alone. I kept thinking she has no shoes on. Where are her shoes? Do whores wear shoes? Is being shoeless a positive indication of your status as a whore? Why would Sam let a whore hold our child? It took a while for it to set in that I threatened suicide that day to him, and he thought it okay to indulge in the company of a female. Shoeless. Clearly a whore. Whores don’t wear shoes. That’s another thing we should report to officials. If you see a girl without any shoes on, she’s a whore. Arrest her. The night I got gussied up and covered myself in the Estee Lauder cream that I only wear on special occasions, he told me, “I’m going over to her place to listen to music.” That Estee Lauder costs $35 a jar. It proclaims it’s supposed to make you feel “Sexy, Exotic, Opulent”.

That next morning he tried talking to me while we were in bed. I pretended to be asleep. He wanted to have sex. He didn’t want me to listen to his latest guitar jam. Or watch this awesome movie he saw on Netflix. Or go check out the awesome shops in Midtown. Or anything. He is a disease. And his mother enabled it. I want to kill her sometimes. Or just shame her in public.

Is all this worth depriving my son of a father? Am I selfish enough for that? Is it selfish?

The only things that have made me happy in the last week has involved sweets.

How am I supposed to feel when I get all sweet and gussied up and you call another girl promising to come over? If you only knew the conversation I had with my dad earlier. Me + you have a countdown. And I’m the only one who knows the expiration date. Deuces, dude.