thomyorkeslover's blog, page 1

Last login: 8 weeks agoThomyorkeslover: Ashley is a 20 year old woman in a relationship from Coldwater, Ohio, USA.; Likes 198 pages, 3 videos, 33 photos • 89 fans • Received 13 reviews; Member since Sep 15, 2006

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Gilbert Garcin - Artiste Photographe - Marseille: Apr 5, 2007 9:18pm 99 reviews photography
http://www.gilbert-garcin.com/; Me Likey.

Bela Borsodi Photography: Jan 20, 2007 11:58pm 25 reviews photography
http://www.art-dept.com/artists/borsodi/

Pop Experiment: Photography, Experimental Pop Photography, Art, Music, Design a…: Jan 20, 2007 11:35pm 29 reviews photography
http://www.popexperiment.com/photography/page/2/

Jan 20, 2007 10:07pm: Someone (me) just got wireless internet again! Woohoo! After such a long time without it, I forgot how great it is to be able to lounge around with a laptop and surf the net. And now I can FINALLY start stumbling again! Woohoo!

StumbleUpon - Blu3s web site reviews and blog: Dec 24, 2006 4:51pm 22 reviews
http://blu3.stumbleupon.com/; Luis is CRAZY, but I mean that in the nicest sense of the word :) He sees the good in people and has such a big heart. He never gives up on what he wants- something I really admire about the guy.

Nov 29, 2006 12:16am: youtube.com/watch [youtube.com/watch]

This movie is a MUST-SEE!!! It is quite possibly my new favorite movie.

There are no words... it's just beautiful- a work of art.

WATCH IT. It's worth the money

Nov 28, 2006 10:07am

Nov 21, 2006 12:34am: Beautiful underwater photography
zenaholloway.com [zenaholloway.com]

Nov 20, 2006 7:50pm: slowlydownward.com/library.html [slowlydownward.com/library.html]

"So one day I began collecting: I urinated into a large jar. I masturbated and scooped my ejaculate into a second jar. I took a knife from the drawer and made an incision on the end of my finger and squeezed the blood in thin trickles and fat drops into a third jar. I sat down with a fourth jar on my lap, and thought of sad things. Then I wept into the jar. I repeated these actions every evening, each fluid into its appointed jar. After a month, I emptied the contents of the jars into small saucepans, which I heated carefully until I had evaporated the liquid. When the pans had cooled, I scraped the residue, with the aid of a funnel, into separate salt cellars. I then tasted each of my personal salts, judging which would go best with what food..."

"When I am dead I will lie with crisp packets, bottles, cigarette ends, disposable nappies, television sets, computers, chairs, lightbulbs, guns, CDs, gas fires, refrigerators, typewriters, musical instruments, car parts and inhalers.

I will leave a complete text. A complex and detailed description of my life. It will almost be possible to imagine my long-past thoughts.
My bones will be fused with plastic and metal. My teeth with mercury and plastic. I will sleep encapsulated in trash. Crisp packets, bottles, cigarette ends, disposable nappies, television sets, computers, chairs, lightbulbs, guns, CDs, gas fires, refrigerators, typewriters, musical instruments, car parts and inhalers."

"and after all the parties and the reunions and those funerals and everything, i remembered that we had buried a time capsule. perhaps we were already old friends when we had the plan; fill a sealed box with our secrets and bury it. i think the idea was to dig it up when all our secrets had become aged and meaningless and didnt hurt and couldnt break anything.
i'm here now typing on my computer.
same old, same old.
my language isn't necessary at all.
everything has to go out.
i feel like a dunce.
i've landed on an alien world.
life is a seedy, dirty, nasty thing, but it has to be covered. my life is pretty much covered with accidents, disasters, mistakes; all small, all inconsequential. nothing I've done would interest you. i buried my secrets.
my life was, you know, great and interesting and everything. and awful and unbelievable and terrible.
and exciting. and boring. over."

"Things had been going awry between us for some time. We had difficulty in understanding one another somehow; as if we spoke different languages and our interpreter had more lucrative work elsewhere. We moved around each other in something approximating silence, in a wan ballet that owed more to exclusion zones than elegance or grace.
Often it seemed as if we were the only inhabitants of the village. On my aimless perambulations I would see no-one at all. No dogs, no cats. I saw only birds; crows circling high overhead in the white sky, calling out in the air, laughing, or perhaps crying. Their nests were knotted cancers high in the tallest trees. I watched them as they wrote indecipherable messages against the clouds. Not for me. No messages. I went home, and our front door was heavy as lead."

I absolutely LOVE Stanley Donwood