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Christina ; 19 ; NYC
ты пахнешь как сыр

last.fm

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

(Source: comicgifs)

10:52 am →
16895 notes
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Reblogged from
comic gifs

    Sunday, April 13, 2014

    (Source: baconnnnnnn)

    Saturday, April 12, 2014
    tyleroakley:

witchhctiw:

the-solitary-witch:

warriorsatthedisco:

littlestmowreader:

nivena:

sload:

gill-bear-toe:

gill-bear-toe:

someone-inconspicuous:

what the fuck is this shit

release the penguins

insert peanuts

are those ten fortes

I see two dinosaurs nuzzling each other.

EIGHT NOTE CHORDS? What instrument(s) is this for? An octopus??

Its called the Death Waltz, and was written as a joke but people have attempted it on piano.

Saxes move downstage.

I’ll just leave this here.

SWEET JESUS CLICK THAT

    tyleroakley:

    witchhctiw:

    the-solitary-witch:

    warriorsatthedisco:

    littlestmowreader:

    nivena:

    sload:

    gill-bear-toe:

    gill-bear-toe:

    someone-inconspicuous:

    what the fuck is this shit

    release the penguins

    insert peanuts

    are those ten fortes

    I see two dinosaurs nuzzling each other.

    EIGHT NOTE CHORDS? What instrument(s) is this for? An octopus??

    Its called the Death Waltz, and was written as a joke but people have attempted it on piano.

    Saxes move downstage.

    I’ll just leave this here.

    SWEET JESUS CLICK THAT

    Friday, April 11, 2014

    (Source: theonetrueself)

    4:16 pm →
    29178 notes
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    theonetrueself

      Sunday, April 6, 2014
      laye-z:

The camera turned on by itself I am no model

      laye-z:

      The camera turned on by itself I am no model

      (Source: asian)

      Friday, April 4, 2014
      tastefullyoffensive:

Thanks for noticing

      tastefullyoffensive:

      Thanks for noticing

      Wednesday, April 2, 2014

      syberstudies:

      Practicing metal painting and textures.

      12:24 am →
      6908 notes
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      Reblogged from
      sketchandstudy

        Monday, March 31, 2014
        hannapop:

nemomiraclegr0w:

He waited 7 weeks to say this

What a little fucker. 

        hannapop:

        nemomiraclegr0w:

        He waited 7 weeks to say this

        What a little fucker. 

        Sunday, March 30, 2014
        tsuthetiger:

the fuck outta here

        tsuthetiger:

        the fuck outta here

        (Source: clupster)

        traumaglitter:

alionamongladies:

Why go to Tiffany’s for a wedding band when you have one grown from your own bones? That’s what five British couples did this spring, starting with a trip to the hospital for a quick jaw biopsy to retrieve bone cells. The idea - a romantic experiment dubbed biojewelry - is the love child of Tobie Kerridge and Nikki Stott, design researchers at the Royal College of Art, and Ian Thompson, a bioengineer at Kings College London. The trio used a four-step process (below) to coax the cells into skeletal symbols of everlasting devotion. It takes months. In September, the jewelry - plus still photos and a time-lapse video of the process - will go on display at Guy’s Hospital in London. After that, the betrothed get the rings for keeps. “I love the idea that it’s precious only to us because it is, literally, us,” says Harriet Harris, one of the participants. “It’s almost worthless to anyone else.” You can’t say that about platinum.
The process1. Extract bone chips from jaw. Rinse.2. Place bone cells in ring-shaped bioactive ceramic scaffold.3. Feed liquid nutrients and culture in a temperature-controlled bioreactor for six weeks.4. After coral-like bone forms fully around scaffold, pare down to final ring shape and insert silver liner (for engraving).
Some Links about it:
http://bioartwindsor.blogspot.com/2010/11/wedding-rings-made-from-your-partners.html
http://www.mohdi.com/2007/01/23/bone-wedding-ring/

My university is an odd place

        traumaglitter:

        alionamongladies:

        Why go to Tiffany’s for a wedding band when you have one grown from your own bones? That’s what five British couples did this spring, starting with a trip to the hospital for a quick jaw biopsy to retrieve bone cells. The idea - a romantic experiment dubbed biojewelry - is the love child of Tobie Kerridge and Nikki Stott, design researchers at the Royal College of Art, and Ian Thompson, a bioengineer at Kings College London. The trio used a four-step process (below) to coax the cells into skeletal symbols of everlasting devotion. It takes months. In September, the jewelry - plus still photos and a time-lapse video of the process - will go on display at Guy’s Hospital in London. After that, the betrothed get the rings for keeps. “I love the idea that it’s precious only to us because it is, literally, us,” says Harriet Harris, one of the participants. “It’s almost worthless to anyone else.” You can’t say that about platinum.

        The process
        1. Extract bone chips from jaw. Rinse.
        2. Place bone cells in ring-shaped bioactive ceramic scaffold.
        3. Feed liquid nutrients and culture in a temperature-controlled bioreactor for six weeks.
        4. After coral-like bone forms fully around scaffold, pare down to final ring shape and insert silver liner (for engraving).

        Some Links about it:

        http://bioartwindsor.blogspot.com/2010/11/wedding-rings-made-from-your-partners.html

        http://www.mohdi.com/2007/01/23/bone-wedding-ring/

        My university is an odd place

        (Source: beesbonesampersands)

        (Source: zizicat)

        Saturday, March 29, 2014

        april-liu:

        i actually 

        do not support nice sketchbooks 

        I think they take too much time and effort and pull out the perfectionism and insecurity in every artist and you would improve much faster sketching through a big stack of copy paper on a clipboard

        and yet…

        8:06 pm →
        12759 notes
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          Friday, March 28, 2014
          "

          A FAT LITTLE GIRL
          is eight years old, she’s got pink cheeks that her grandmother calls chubby. She wants a second cookie but her aunt says “you’ll get huge if you keep eating.” She wants a dress and the woman in the changing room says “she’ll probably need a large in that.” She wants to have dessert and her waiter says “After all that dinner you just had? You must be really hungry!” and her parents laugh.

          A FAT LITTLE GIRL
          is eleven and she is picked second-to-last in gym class. She watches a cartoon and sees that everyone who is annoying is drawn with a big wide body, all sweaty and panting. At night she dreams she is swelling like the ocean over seabeds. When she wakes up, she skips school.

          A FAT LITTLE GIRL
          is thirteen and her friends are stick-thin ballerinas with valleys between their hipbones. She is instead developing the wide curves of her mother. She says she is thick but her friends argue that she’s “muscular” and for some reason this hurts worse than just admitting that she jiggles when she walks and she’ll never be a dancer. Eating seconds of anything feels like she’s breaking some unspoken rule. The word “indulgent” starts to go along with “food.”

          A FAT LITTLE GIRL
          is fourteen and she has stopped drinking soda and juice because they bloat you. She always takes the stairs. She fidgets when she has to sit still. Whenever she goes out for ice cream, she leaves half at the bottom - but someone else always leaves more and she feels like she’s falling. She pretends to like salad more than she does. She feels eyes burrowing through her body while she eats lunch. Kate Moss tells her nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she just feels like she is wilting.

          A FAT LITTLE GIRL
          is fifteen the first time her father says “you’re getting gaunt.” She rolls her eyes. She eats one meal a day but thinks she stays the same size. Every time she picks up a brownie she thinks of the people she sees on t.v. and every time she has cake, she thinks of the one million magazine articles on restricting calories. She used to have no idea a flat stomach was supposed to be beautiful until she saw advice on how to achieve it. She cuts back on everything. She controls. They tell her she’s getting too thin but she doesn’t believe it.

          A FAT LITTLE GIRL
          is sixteen and tearing herself into shreds in order for a thigh gap big enough to hush the screams in her head. She doesn’t “indulge,” ever. She can’t go out with friends, they expect her to eat. She damns her sweet tooth directly to hell. It’s coffee for breakfast and tea for lunch and if there’s dance that evening, two cups of water and then maybe an apple. She lies all the time until she thinks the words will rot her teeth. She dreams about food when she sleeps. Her aunt begs her to eat anything, even just a small cookie. They say, “One bite won’t make you fat, will it, darling?”

          A FAT LITTLE GIRL
          is seventeen and too sick to go to prom because she can’t stand up for very long. She thinks she wouldn’t look good in a dress anyway. Her nails are blue and not because they are painted. Her hair is too thin to do anything with. She’s tired all the time and always distracted. She once absently mentions the caloric value of grapes to the boy she is with and he looks at her like she’s gone insane and in that moment she realizes most people don’t have numbers constantly scrolling in their heads. She swallows hard and tries to figure out where it all went wrong, why more than a granola bar for a meal makes her feel sick, why she tastes disease and courts with death. She misses sleep. She misses being able to dream. She misses being herself instead of just being empty.

          A FAT LITTLE GIRL
          is twenty and writes poetry and is a healthy weight and still fights down the voices every single day. She puts food in her mouth and sometimes cries about it but more and more often feels good, feels balanced. Her cheeks are pink and they are chubby and soft and no longer growing slight fur. Her hair is long and it is beautiful. She still picks herself apart in the mirror, but she’s starting to get better about it. She wears the dress she likes even if it only fits her in a large and she doesn’t feel like a failure for it. She is falling in love with the fat on her hips.

          She is eating out with friends and not worrying about finding the lowest calorie item on the menu when she hears a mother tell her four year old daughter “You can’t have ice cream, we just had dinner.
          You don’t want to end up as a fat little girl.”

          "
          Why do we constantly do this to our children? /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)
          Thursday, March 27, 2014

          referenceforwriters:

          Illustrated Guides: 1, 2, 3

          Source

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