Photographer Yutha Yamanaka

Photographer Yutha Yamanaka currently challenges himself with a 365 day project, creating one staggering image a day, uploading it to his Flickr. His photography is characterized by a surreal twist, often finding expressions in otherworldly self portraits. Yutha Yamanaka was born and raised in Tokyo, Japan, today he lives in Denpasar, Bali.

(found at iGNANT )

My Amp Goes To 11Twitter | Instagram

Amoebae leave no fossils. They haven’t any bones. (No teeth, no belt buckles, no wedding rings.) It is impossible, therefore, to determine how long amoebae have been on Earth.

Quite possibly they have been here since the curtain opened. Amoebae may even have dominated the stage, early in the first act. On the other hand, they may have come into existence only three years—or three days or three minutes—before they were discovered by Anton van Leenwenhoek in 1674. It can’t be proven either way.

One thing is certain, however: because amoebae reproduce by division, endlessly, passing everything on yet giving up nothing, the first amoebae that ever lived is still alive. Whether four billion years old or merely three hundred, he she is with us today.


Well, the first amoeba may be floating on his her back in a luxurious pool in Hollywood, California. The first amoeba may be hiding among the cattail roots and peepers in the muddy shallows of Siwash Lake. The first amoeba may recently have dripped down your leg. It is pointless to speculate.

The first amoeba, like the last and the one after that, is here, there and everywhere, for its vehicle, its medium, its essence is water.

Water—the ace of elements. Water dives from the clouds without parachute, wings or safety net Water runs over the steepest precipice and blinks not a lash.

Water is buried and rises again; water walks on fire and fire gets the blisters. Stylishly composed in any situation—solid, gas or liquid—speaking in penetrating dialects understood by all things animal, vegetable or mineral water travels intrepidly through four dimensions, sustaining (Kick a lettuce in the field and it will yell”Water!”), destroying (The Dutch boy’s finger remembered the view from Ararat) and creating (It has even been said that human beings were invented by water as a device for transporting itself from one place to another, but that’s another story). Always in motion, ever-flowing(whether at steam rate or glacier speed), rhythmic, dynamic,ubiquitous, changing and working its changes, a mathematics turned wrong side out, a philosophy in reverse, the ongoing odyssey of water is virtually irresistible. And wherever water goes, amoebae go along for the ride.

Sissy Hankshaw once taught a parakeet to hitchhike.

There is not much in that line she could teach an amoeba.For its expertise as a passenger, as well as for its near-perfectresolution of sexual tensions, the amoeba (and not the whooping crane)is hereby proclaimed the official mascot of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues.

And to the first amoeba, wherever it may be, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues would like to say happy birthday. Happy birthday to you.

Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, Tom Robbins (via fightingforanotherparadigm)

What is the ‘direction’ of the Earth in it’s journey; where are the atoms ‘going’ when they spin?

— Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get the Blues)

(Source: superficialitea)

This sentence is made of lead (and a sentence of lead gives a reader an entirely different sensation from one made of magnesium). This sentence is made of yak wool. This sentence is made of sunlight and plums. This sentence is made of ice. This sentence is made from the blood of the poet. This sentence was made in Japan. This sentence glows in the dark. This sentence was born with a caul. This sentence has a crush on Norman Mailer. This sentence is a wino and doesn’t care who knows it. Like many italic sentences, this one has Mafia connections. This sentence is a double Cancer with a Pisces rising. This sentence lost its mind searching for the perfect paragraph. This sentence refuses to be diagramed. This sentence ran off with an adverb clause. This sentence is 100 percent organic: it will not retain a facsimile of freshness like those sentences of Homer, Shakespeare, Goethe et al., which are loaded with preservatives. This sentence leaks. This sentence doesn’t look Jewish… This sentence has accepted Jesus Christ as its personal savior. This sentence once spit in a book reviewer’s eye. This sentence can do the funky chicken. This sentence has seen too much and forgotten too little. This sentence is called ‘Speedoo’ but its real name is Mr. Earl. This sentence may be pregnant, it missed its period. This sentence suffered a split infinitive—and survived. If this sentence had been a snake you’d have bitten it. This sentence went to jail with Clifford Irving. This sentence went to Woodstock. And this little sentence went wee wee wee all the way home. This sentence is proud to be a part of the team here at Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. This sentence is rather confounded by the whole damn thing.

— Tom Robbins, Even Cowgirls Get The Blues (via zenfabulous)


Tell your papa you’ll be home when the good feeling dies

(Source: curlymonsterfries)

If space is love, Professor, then is love space? Or is love something we use to fill space? If time eats the doughnut, does love eat the hole?

— Tom Robbins (via citrinedream)


Photographer Eva Wollenberg | On Tumblr


"And I dreamt of a woman suspended upside-down over a lava lake at the end of a rope. She had to go down, to collect magma."

I am a French artist of Polish origins born in 1982. I live and work in the middle of the woods, in the mountains of East of France. I studied Visual Arts at university but mainly followed the maverick’s path and I am self-taught in photography. 

I am mainly interested in digging into the mine of existentialism, chtonian mysteries, the uncanny and the unseen. My focus is on the exploration of the inner arena, emotional and psychological self-discovery. I use art as a way to uncover the true Self and integrate Shadow elements into the personality. The wild, the magic of synesthesias, symbols, rituals and intimacy drive me to create.

My creative vision has been nurtured by the encounter with the worlds of Ingmar Bergman, David Lynch, Andreï Tarkovski, or Sharunas Bartas.

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Frank O’Hara, “As Planned”


After the first glass of vodka
you can accept just about anything
of life even your own mysteriousness
you think it is nice that a box
of matches is purple and brown and is called
La Petite and comes from Sweden
for they are words that you know and that
is all you know words not their feelings
or what they mean and you write because
you know them not because you understand them
because you don’t you are stupid and lazy
and will never be great but you do
what you know because what else is there?