/page/2
poe-souls:

chubbyjapan:

Popping Soda – Baskin Robbins 
Look at this cute drink! Japanese foods are sometimes so cute, you wonder whether they’re actually edible. 
This is a drink that you can purchase at Baskin Robbins in Japan: blue soda topped with ice cream that has pop rocks inside. The stars you see in the drink are nata de coco. 
Side Note: Did you know?  
In Japan, Baskin Robbins is referred to “31 Ice Cream.” 

oh my god give

poe-souls:

chubbyjapan:

Popping Soda – Baskin Robbins

Look at this cute drink! Japanese foods are sometimes so cute, you wonder whether they’re actually edible.

This is a drink that you can purchase at Baskin Robbins in Japan: blue soda topped with ice cream that has pop rocks inside. The stars you see in the drink are nata de coco.

Side Note: Did you know?  

In Japan, Baskin Robbins is referred to “31 Ice Cream.” 

oh my god give

(via deliciousjapanesefoodporn)

moment of truth

I’m ready to tell my story.

Use Me Up

  • Somebody let me down
  • Somebody show me love
  • I wouldn't care much either way
  • I'd rather the sticks and stones
  • Than dragging the ball and chain
  • Of what if the world won't take me?
  • Even if the holes should crack
  • And even if the blood flows red
  • Nothing could be worse than numb
  • So please, use me up
  • I just want anyone to use me up
  • Cause no one ever does
  • Use me up
  • I've carried it all too long
  • The fear of the pain it brings
  • Feeling the panic building up
  • I'd rather the broken heart
  • Than live in the emptiness
  • Of what if the world won't save me?
  • Even if the bow should break
  • Even if the blood runs cold
  • Nothing could be worse than numb
  • Please, use me up
  • I just want anyone to use me up
  • Cause no one ever does
  • Use me up
  • Use me up
  • Treat me somewhere cruel
  • You can throw me away
  • As long as I feel it
  • Show me something real
  • You can deceive me
  • I am yours to use
  • Use me up
  • - Zac Hanson

mildmanneredman:

Just ordered this pocket watch/necklace combo on Etsy from UmbrellaLaboratory! So excited! 

Mr. Oldman does everything right. EVERYTHING.

(Source: mrstonyharrison)

didly:

Personal Project - The Sunday Times

A series of collages from a range of national newspapers looking at the images we are presented with everyday and the ideologies they hope to create. 

Gary Oldman makes everything awesome.

(via didly-deactivated20120607)

starrryeyedlove:

I. must. have. this.

This is BEYOND cute!!!

starrryeyedlove:

I. must. have. this.

This is BEYOND cute!!!

As a child, I always noticed the way adults held objects in their hands. Things like wine glasses or car keys or medicine bottles. I would try to imitate these mannerisms to appear older, but in my little hands, it just felt awkward. Today, I remembered this as I walked from my car holding my keys, a bottle of soda, and a stack of important papers. But I cannot ignore those times I can often be found holding a bottle of apple juice in mittened hands, drinking awkwardly. I guess in some small ways, I’ll always be a bit of a child.

kaoruteichou:

I wish to cosplay this version of Jessica Rabbit

Yes.  Yes, I do.

Greenlee,

As per your request, I’ve done my best to recount the past week.  It began at the café on Tuesday, August 23.  Richard came by after some work at the studio, and he decided to hang around until it was time for you to come to work.  We were just talking when he started sweating a little, and he fumbled for the medicine around his neck.  A second later, he collapsed.  I imagine it was a lot like the last incident in London.  I checked for breathing and got nothing.  I checked for a pulse and there wasn’t one.  I called out for Eric to call 911 so I could try and bring him back.  But nothing I did seemed to work.  The paramedics showed up within minutes, and you showed up as they were leaving.  When you saw the ambulance, you looked as though your worst fears had just come to life, and as they were pulling away, you started to run behind them.  I offered to take you in my car, but I don’t know if you heard me.  You took off running through the alley, and I followed.  I knew you hadn’t been feeling so great lately, and I was worried about you sprinting off like that.

I chased you the several blocks to the hospital and through the doors to the ER.  I was pretty winded, but you were in even worse condition, gasping for breath, trying to repeat Richard’s name.  You promptly passed out on the floor.  And no better place to do so, because they carried you onto a bed and rolled you away.  I tagged along and told them you were still getting over a pretty bad bout of flu, which I gave you.  They kicked me out for awhile, and I went to go check on Richard. 

The news I got wasn’t good.  Richard had not been revived since he collapsed in front of me.  They could not bring him back.  They tried.  The doctor who gave me the news had tears in his eyes.  He told me he respected this man for decades, that it was heart-wrenching to be one of the people trying to save his life and being unable to, and then having to announce to the world that we lost a legend today. 

To my fury, the paparazzi showed up.  I was so fucking angry about that, I still cannot express the rage I felt upon seeing those rubbernecked busybodies trying to reduce Richard’s tragedy to a two-paragraph story in their stupid newspapers.  Security kept them at bay.

I came to check on you, but you were still out.  I shook you a little and you woke up with a start.  That’s when you told me you’d been out cold all this time.  You asked me where Richard was, but before I could answer, your doctor came in.  He said you had been out quite awhile, and when you told him you’d had the flu, he said you didn’t.  He smiled at you and said you were twelve weeks pregnant.  You looked so shocked yet so delighted that I couldn’t bear to tell you the news.  But then you looked at me, and I’ll never forget your words:  “Richard’s a daddy?  I can’t believe it!  Richard’s a daddy!”  You wondered aloud whether he would be happy about it.  You fixed your rapturous expression onto me awaiting my response.  I started to say, “I think…” but I couldn’t finish.  I couldn’t tell you.  God… you looked so happy, Greenlee.  And I saw that glow in your face, the same glow Anna acquired in her pregnancy, and you were so beautiful and so full of smiles.  You didn’t wait long for a response.  You insisted on seeing Richard so you could tell him for yourself.  And the longer I remained silent, the more insistent you became.  You demanded I tell you what I knew, to know where he was, for me to take you to him.  The words finally came unstuck from my throat and I said, “Richard didn’t make it.” 

At this, you went completely silent.  Then you ripped the tubes and wires off and shoved me out of the way.  I tried to grab your arm and so did the doctor, but you slipped right through us and out the door.  I was right behind you, and I nearly knocked you over when you stopped abruptly at the sight of the paparazzi.  They came after you, snapping pictures and asking questions.  But all you did was shout, “Where is my husband?!” over and over.  They pointed you toward his room and followed you.  I nearly lost you, but I knew that at all costs, I must prevent you from laying eyes on him now.  You stopped dead in your tracks again upon hearing one reporter say, “…pronounced dead just after noon…” just before breaking into a run.  You were stopped at the door to his room, and you were shouting at them to let go of you, that you were his wife and you needed to see him.  You tried your damndest to push through them, screaming at the top of your lungs, “Richard, you’re a daddy!  Richard!  You’re a daddy, Richard!”  Your voice was giving out.  “You can’t leave me, Richard!  You made me a mommy!”  And you started pleading, first pleading to Richard, “Please don’t be gone!  You have to fight it!”, and then pleading with the doctors and getting angry, “Please bring him back to me!  Just keep trying!  Keep fucking trying!  Do your god damn job!” 

They had let their guard down too soon.  You pushed through them just enough to see the figure draped in white on the bed.  And you went silent again.  Your legs gave way and you sank to the floor.  You sat there looking as white as the wall you were leaning on.  Your doctor had caught up with us and tried to get you to sit in a wheelchair.  I tried to help him, and when I got close to you, I heard your barely audible whispers of, “No… no… no…” growing increasingly faster and louder, until you were screaming again, your voice growing hoarse and weak.  You made for the bed again, and I was so scared that you were going to pull the sheet away, I grabbed you and held your wrist so tightly that you yelled in pain.  I’m really sorry I had to do that.  But if you had managed to get to the bed… even I couldn’t handle seeing the sheet pulled away.

We managed to get you back to your room.  The doctor forced you to lay down, saying that you needed to calm down as much as possible or risk miscarriage.  He put you back on the IV and listed your options for grief counseling and ob-gyns, but I don’t think you were really listening.

Richard’s memorial service was held on Thursday the 25th.  You seemed to be all cried out.  You were pale, your pregnant glow diminished by your grief.  Each of his sons spoke about him, and then it was your turn.  It looked as though the last thing you wanted to do was open your mouth, whether to speak or to eat.  But you made your way to the podium, the saddest, youngest widow I’ve ever seen.  You bared yourself to all of us by reading selections from your diary.  It was incredibly touching, especially the entry about the night you two confessed your feelings to each other.  I know that must’ve been hard to do.  Thank you for sharing that with us. 

Anna and I feel you should be given as much time as you need to grieve.  Don’t worry about coming back into work.  Eric’s got you covered.  And if you need someone to talk to about your pregnancy, Anna wants me to let you know that she’s here for you, too.  Please take care of yourself and your baby.

Remember… we all love you, Greenlee.

Sincerely,

Jake

Think rich, look poor.
– Andy Warhol
I’ve pondered doing mixed media like this, only with more Basquiat-style quotations. He was cryptic and often nonsensical, leaving the interpretation of the message up to the viewer. I think he was toying with people.

I’ve pondered doing mixed media like this, only with more Basquiat-style quotations. He was cryptic and often nonsensical, leaving the interpretation of the message up to the viewer. I think he was toying with people.

(Source: the-healing-nest, via fyeahartstuff)

poe-souls:

chubbyjapan:

Popping Soda – Baskin Robbins 
Look at this cute drink! Japanese foods are sometimes so cute, you wonder whether they’re actually edible. 
This is a drink that you can purchase at Baskin Robbins in Japan: blue soda topped with ice cream that has pop rocks inside. The stars you see in the drink are nata de coco. 
Side Note: Did you know?  
In Japan, Baskin Robbins is referred to “31 Ice Cream.” 

oh my god give

poe-souls:

chubbyjapan:

Popping Soda – Baskin Robbins

Look at this cute drink! Japanese foods are sometimes so cute, you wonder whether they’re actually edible.

This is a drink that you can purchase at Baskin Robbins in Japan: blue soda topped with ice cream that has pop rocks inside. The stars you see in the drink are nata de coco.

Side Note: Did you know?  

In Japan, Baskin Robbins is referred to “31 Ice Cream.” 

oh my god give

(via deliciousjapanesefoodporn)

moment of truth

I’m ready to tell my story.

Use Me Up

  • Somebody let me down
  • Somebody show me love
  • I wouldn't care much either way
  • I'd rather the sticks and stones
  • Than dragging the ball and chain
  • Of what if the world won't take me?
  • Even if the holes should crack
  • And even if the blood flows red
  • Nothing could be worse than numb
  • So please, use me up
  • I just want anyone to use me up
  • Cause no one ever does
  • Use me up
  • I've carried it all too long
  • The fear of the pain it brings
  • Feeling the panic building up
  • I'd rather the broken heart
  • Than live in the emptiness
  • Of what if the world won't save me?
  • Even if the bow should break
  • Even if the blood runs cold
  • Nothing could be worse than numb
  • Please, use me up
  • I just want anyone to use me up
  • Cause no one ever does
  • Use me up
  • Use me up
  • Treat me somewhere cruel
  • You can throw me away
  • As long as I feel it
  • Show me something real
  • You can deceive me
  • I am yours to use
  • Use me up
  • - Zac Hanson

mildmanneredman:

Just ordered this pocket watch/necklace combo on Etsy from UmbrellaLaboratory! So excited! 

Mr. Oldman does everything right. EVERYTHING.

(Source: mrstonyharrison)

didly:

Personal Project - The Sunday Times

A series of collages from a range of national newspapers looking at the images we are presented with everyday and the ideologies they hope to create. 

Gary Oldman makes everything awesome.

(via didly-deactivated20120607)

starrryeyedlove:

I. must. have. this.

This is BEYOND cute!!!

starrryeyedlove:

I. must. have. this.

This is BEYOND cute!!!

As a child, I always noticed the way adults held objects in their hands. Things like wine glasses or car keys or medicine bottles. I would try to imitate these mannerisms to appear older, but in my little hands, it just felt awkward. Today, I remembered this as I walked from my car holding my keys, a bottle of soda, and a stack of important papers. But I cannot ignore those times I can often be found holding a bottle of apple juice in mittened hands, drinking awkwardly. I guess in some small ways, I’ll always be a bit of a child.

kaoruteichou:

I wish to cosplay this version of Jessica Rabbit

Yes.  Yes, I do.

Greenlee,

As per your request, I’ve done my best to recount the past week.  It began at the café on Tuesday, August 23.  Richard came by after some work at the studio, and he decided to hang around until it was time for you to come to work.  We were just talking when he started sweating a little, and he fumbled for the medicine around his neck.  A second later, he collapsed.  I imagine it was a lot like the last incident in London.  I checked for breathing and got nothing.  I checked for a pulse and there wasn’t one.  I called out for Eric to call 911 so I could try and bring him back.  But nothing I did seemed to work.  The paramedics showed up within minutes, and you showed up as they were leaving.  When you saw the ambulance, you looked as though your worst fears had just come to life, and as they were pulling away, you started to run behind them.  I offered to take you in my car, but I don’t know if you heard me.  You took off running through the alley, and I followed.  I knew you hadn’t been feeling so great lately, and I was worried about you sprinting off like that.

I chased you the several blocks to the hospital and through the doors to the ER.  I was pretty winded, but you were in even worse condition, gasping for breath, trying to repeat Richard’s name.  You promptly passed out on the floor.  And no better place to do so, because they carried you onto a bed and rolled you away.  I tagged along and told them you were still getting over a pretty bad bout of flu, which I gave you.  They kicked me out for awhile, and I went to go check on Richard. 

The news I got wasn’t good.  Richard had not been revived since he collapsed in front of me.  They could not bring him back.  They tried.  The doctor who gave me the news had tears in his eyes.  He told me he respected this man for decades, that it was heart-wrenching to be one of the people trying to save his life and being unable to, and then having to announce to the world that we lost a legend today. 

To my fury, the paparazzi showed up.  I was so fucking angry about that, I still cannot express the rage I felt upon seeing those rubbernecked busybodies trying to reduce Richard’s tragedy to a two-paragraph story in their stupid newspapers.  Security kept them at bay.

I came to check on you, but you were still out.  I shook you a little and you woke up with a start.  That’s when you told me you’d been out cold all this time.  You asked me where Richard was, but before I could answer, your doctor came in.  He said you had been out quite awhile, and when you told him you’d had the flu, he said you didn’t.  He smiled at you and said you were twelve weeks pregnant.  You looked so shocked yet so delighted that I couldn’t bear to tell you the news.  But then you looked at me, and I’ll never forget your words:  “Richard’s a daddy?  I can’t believe it!  Richard’s a daddy!”  You wondered aloud whether he would be happy about it.  You fixed your rapturous expression onto me awaiting my response.  I started to say, “I think…” but I couldn’t finish.  I couldn’t tell you.  God… you looked so happy, Greenlee.  And I saw that glow in your face, the same glow Anna acquired in her pregnancy, and you were so beautiful and so full of smiles.  You didn’t wait long for a response.  You insisted on seeing Richard so you could tell him for yourself.  And the longer I remained silent, the more insistent you became.  You demanded I tell you what I knew, to know where he was, for me to take you to him.  The words finally came unstuck from my throat and I said, “Richard didn’t make it.” 

At this, you went completely silent.  Then you ripped the tubes and wires off and shoved me out of the way.  I tried to grab your arm and so did the doctor, but you slipped right through us and out the door.  I was right behind you, and I nearly knocked you over when you stopped abruptly at the sight of the paparazzi.  They came after you, snapping pictures and asking questions.  But all you did was shout, “Where is my husband?!” over and over.  They pointed you toward his room and followed you.  I nearly lost you, but I knew that at all costs, I must prevent you from laying eyes on him now.  You stopped dead in your tracks again upon hearing one reporter say, “…pronounced dead just after noon…” just before breaking into a run.  You were stopped at the door to his room, and you were shouting at them to let go of you, that you were his wife and you needed to see him.  You tried your damndest to push through them, screaming at the top of your lungs, “Richard, you’re a daddy!  Richard!  You’re a daddy, Richard!”  Your voice was giving out.  “You can’t leave me, Richard!  You made me a mommy!”  And you started pleading, first pleading to Richard, “Please don’t be gone!  You have to fight it!”, and then pleading with the doctors and getting angry, “Please bring him back to me!  Just keep trying!  Keep fucking trying!  Do your god damn job!” 

They had let their guard down too soon.  You pushed through them just enough to see the figure draped in white on the bed.  And you went silent again.  Your legs gave way and you sank to the floor.  You sat there looking as white as the wall you were leaning on.  Your doctor had caught up with us and tried to get you to sit in a wheelchair.  I tried to help him, and when I got close to you, I heard your barely audible whispers of, “No… no… no…” growing increasingly faster and louder, until you were screaming again, your voice growing hoarse and weak.  You made for the bed again, and I was so scared that you were going to pull the sheet away, I grabbed you and held your wrist so tightly that you yelled in pain.  I’m really sorry I had to do that.  But if you had managed to get to the bed… even I couldn’t handle seeing the sheet pulled away.

We managed to get you back to your room.  The doctor forced you to lay down, saying that you needed to calm down as much as possible or risk miscarriage.  He put you back on the IV and listed your options for grief counseling and ob-gyns, but I don’t think you were really listening.

Richard’s memorial service was held on Thursday the 25th.  You seemed to be all cried out.  You were pale, your pregnant glow diminished by your grief.  Each of his sons spoke about him, and then it was your turn.  It looked as though the last thing you wanted to do was open your mouth, whether to speak or to eat.  But you made your way to the podium, the saddest, youngest widow I’ve ever seen.  You bared yourself to all of us by reading selections from your diary.  It was incredibly touching, especially the entry about the night you two confessed your feelings to each other.  I know that must’ve been hard to do.  Thank you for sharing that with us. 

Anna and I feel you should be given as much time as you need to grieve.  Don’t worry about coming back into work.  Eric’s got you covered.  And if you need someone to talk to about your pregnancy, Anna wants me to let you know that she’s here for you, too.  Please take care of yourself and your baby.

Remember… we all love you, Greenlee.

Sincerely,

Jake

Think rich, look poor.
– Andy Warhol
I’ve pondered doing mixed media like this, only with more Basquiat-style quotations. He was cryptic and often nonsensical, leaving the interpretation of the message up to the viewer. I think he was toying with people.

I’ve pondered doing mixed media like this, only with more Basquiat-style quotations. He was cryptic and often nonsensical, leaving the interpretation of the message up to the viewer. I think he was toying with people.

(Source: the-healing-nest, via fyeahartstuff)

moment of truth
Use Me Up
"Think rich, look poor."

About:

On the second highest floor of the second highest residential building in Seattle, I stared out the window overlooking the city. Beyond the buildings was Puget Sound, and beyond that, Bainbridge Island. I reflected on everything it took to get here, to call this room home.

Following: