Olive Park and The River
oh my god <3 <3 <3
Olive Park and The River
oh my god <3 <3 <3
Dick Cheney woke up. For a moment, he thought he had fallen asleep on his couch after another late night of work. No, he rose from his coffin as was customary of the vampiric peoples. The ancient wood of his bed creaked as he rubbed his eyes. He put his feelers out and found his black wired glasses, with lenses made from the sands of hell. He looked around his room and saw that his undead hookers had left, leaving him lonely in a lonely, terrorist filled world.
Dick walked over to his throne of skulls and checked his email. First, he unsubscribed from FOX news, disgusted that such bleeding heart liberals would even think to try to fill his inbox with its humanist swill. He writhed in a sweaty combination of agony, indulgent ecstasy, and furious resentment. Cheney felt a tingle in his gurgling organs as he read the report from Guantanamo. The dopamine of his human form released cautiously as he was checking this.
When done, he opened the window, immediately closing it without looking outside. It was time to actually get to work…
"No!!!!" It was time to masturbate. He did not care for this world, he longed for days of yore, different atmosphere, different atmospheric pressure. He hated everything, even money and republicans. None of this external realm concerned him in the slightest. He pulled forward his memoir and ripped out a page. He began chanting, his protrusion began sprouting from his exoskeleton.
Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet Saeclum in favilla
Teste Satan cum sibylla.
Quantos tremor est futurus
Quando Vindex est venturus
Cuncta stricte discussurus.
Dies irae, dies illa!
He continued. “URGH”, the hardening of the extrusion was exhilaration. He began thinking of the wiretaps, the power of satan, and eating Obama’s kids. It was too much, too fast, he needed to slow down or his extremely dark green, abomination of a squirting heart would come under cardiac arrest once more. He began stroking his shotgun, a shell-like telescopic extension from his imperfect human body. He began pumping his shotgun, thinking about interrogating a minority. “REAAAA THAT’S WHAT I LIIIIIKE ” said the politician and business man. His entire being was into this moment. He was working hard at himself, and a smell of death could be sensed from hundreds of paces away. At this point, his chanting was embellished with racial slurs and business figures from last week’s meeting. Grey, torn wings began pulling from his back, and he could not stop at this point. He continued chanting and imagined unspeakable things, like how at some point that he was vice president.
"RAAAAAAGGGGGHHNNN THERE IT ISSSSSS" said the demon Dick Cheney, and he began to sprout black ooze from every hole in his body. Yes, he was "cumming" if you can call it that, spraying everywhere. In that moment, he remembered being in nature and shooting his friend in the head with his hunting shotgun. Glorious, simple perfection thought the vp. After the fluid, if you can call it that, had been expunged from his orifices, he wiped himself off with the pages of his memoir. The afterglow of demonic endorphins was short lived, and he soon felt cantankerous. He laid back, having ruined his day by masturbating too early in the morning, the sun had not risen and he could feel the ache of the rest of his abyssal eternity that would form his contempt for every living creature. He drank the blood of god knows what creature and fell back into his coffin, Facebook messaging his wife to nail it shut.
Keaton Henson (b. 1988, London, UK) - from book Gloaming Drawings
Fall is upon us
Madonna and Child - 1650
Kim and North - 2014
It has been a beautiful and unique privilege to see North West grow up.
LONG LIVE SEAPUNK :)
reblogging once more
Pastels by Spanish painter Felipe Santamans 1951
i never get sick of this guys puns
King of the jungle
A silent protest in Love Park, downtown Philadelphia orchestrated by performance artists protesting the murder of Michael Brown in Ferguson. The onslaught of passerby’s wanting to take photos with the statue exemplifies the disconnect in American society. Simply frame out the dead body, and it doesn’t exist.
Here are some observations by one of the artists involved in the event:
I don’t know who any of these folks are.
They were tourists I presume.
But I heard most of what everything they said. A few lines in particular stood out. There’s one guy not featured in the photos. His friends were trying to get him to join the picture but he couldn’t take his eyes off the body.
"Something about this doesn’t feel right. I’m going to sit this one out, guys." "Com’on man… he’s already dead."
There were a billion little quips I heard today. Some broke my heart. Some restored my faith in humanity. There was an older white couple who wanted to take a picture under the statue.
The older gentleman: “Why do they have to always have to shove their politics down our throats.” Older woman: “They’re black kids, honey. They don’t have anything better to do.”
One woman even stepped over the body to get her picture. But as luck would have it the wind blew the caution tape and it got tangle around her foot. She had to stop and take the tape off. She still took her photo.
There was a guy who yelled at us… “We need more dead like them. Yay for the white man!”
"One young guy just cried and then gave me a hug and said ‘thank you. It’s nice to know SOMEBODY sees me.’
“Something about this doesn’t feel right. I’m going to sit this one out, guys.” <-be this guy