You were young once and in Italy

Still of Milla Jovovich in The Fifth Element (1997) dir. Luc Besson

Describe yourself at this moment, mind and all. A golden weekend with Ann-Marie in the Lombardia countryside. She has a special tenderness about her, Holly Golightly meets Tinker Bell. We saw churches and castles, and took wines in piazzas; all things high and classical. There was sunlight in spades. After lunch banter with bar girls in Brescia, one studied English in Rochester NY, the other was dating a Scottish boy. The later having experienced the rapture of Anglo-Saxon romance has sworn off her countrymen for good, clever girl.

These last two days I have lived life as it should be lived. I ventured out into creation and wandered in between flower stalls and parking meters and cold heavy swallows of fresh cow’s milk. We sang in the car. She wants to marry Marino, when she is 30 and has seen the world, and I think she damn well ought to. “The trick is how do you ask someone to wait five years for you? They live there life and you yours and one day you pull up in the driveway, throw open the door and yell out, ‘I’m ready!’”

Oh, the sunlight!

Anonymous asked: You're perfect. And when I'm acting I act like I'm talking to you

Thank you, I hope fairies leave blackberry jam on your front porch tonight


Sascha Schneider, “Gymnast”, graphite and ink on paper, 1913

I want this so badly.

Mortal Kombat (1995)

i wanna see dat dick… u know its like a 12 y/o’s arm



Shiki no Uta (Song of Four Seasons) — Minmi and Nujabes — Samurai Champloo Ending

Oh maaaaaan, talk about nostalgia. 

(via monsterinsides)


The Reading Girl’ by Théodore Roussel


Into the Wild │ Sean Penn 

(Source: motionpicturespaused, via existingreality)


Untitled (from Family Album), 2002 by Katherine Wolkof 

I feel isolated, as though a cold white wind were moving through me at the speed of stars in ecstasy of a glowing nothingness. If I were home I’d call up an aunt or uncle or friend or obscure high school classmate divorced and with child but I am in Italy, the land of Da Vinci and panna cotta and souls fenced away from mine by culture and language and a gaping absence of free time.

the boy from torino pt 2

Why should such an inane amount of time leave me feeling raped? Like those images of the great tsunami surmounting land and annihilating all the places and spaces before it. This path has been walked weary days before yet I lie in the eye of the wolf unknowing as a newborn. When we were sitting at his apartment he made a point not to sit near me, and an Italian does not fear proximity as an American does. We smoked and drank Diet Pepsi. He talked about his mother’s abortions, she was a radical in the 1970’s. Above the breakfast table the devil in the clock ticked nearer midnight. Of course, Marya tells me to give him a second shot. It’s not that I wouldn’t, it is simply that deep down I fear the heavy ‘no’ to the request, which I more or less received this morning when I attempted an invitation to coffee. The second slap across the face. The single drop of elucidating blood pours quietly from my nose and tells me I was wrong, wrong, wrong. I never guessed people were so much work. They remind me of the laborious rose gardens my grandmother grew: one sweats over them, hands burrowing in the warm earth day after day, for the brief magnificence of a momentary bloom.

Almighty Genie, I have one wish: make me asexual.