i like it when i'm down
you like me when i'm up

domaindopemandotcom:

OKAY BUT NIGGAS WILL DEBATE FOR YEARS HOW A PUSSY SUPPOSED TO LOOK AND HOW IT SHOULD SMELL AND WHETHER IT SHOULD BE SHAVED OR NOT

BUT WHEN YOU ASK EM WHERE THE CLIT AT THE ROOM BE SILENT

synthetikweekend:

objectoccult:

Before the availability of the tape recorder and during the 1950s, when vinyl was scarce, people in the Soviet Union began making records of banned Western music on discarded x-rays. With the help of a special device, banned bootlegged jazz and rock ‘n’ roll records were “pressed” on thick radiographs salvaged from hospital waste bins and then cut into discs of 23-25 centimeters in diameter. “They would cut the X-ray into a crude circle with manicure scissors and use a cigarette to burn a hole,” says author Anya von Bremzen. “You’d have Elvis on the lungs, Duke Ellington on Aunt Masha’s brain scan — forbidden Western music captured on the interiors of Soviet citizens.”

SO AMAZING.

princehomo:

do people actually go on dates or is that just on tv

horsesaround:

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amywinehousedevotee:

Amy, 2006
Anonymous asked: Tell me an interesting fact or a story about amy winehouse. Plus what's your favorite song of her

violentwavesofemotion:

Amy Winehouse was a girl from Camden Town who laughed, loved and lived according to what felt honest to her. She was also the world’s most promising vocalist for the years to come and she could give people eargasms through her solely opening her mouth and speaking or singing or cursing and yet, still, she wasn’t put here to sing. She was born to love and she did come to love and I’m proud of what she did because her entire existence screams genuineness. She took her own garbage out (literally), wore the same pair of shoes quite frequently, was pretty insecure about her hair, never conquered her stage fright. The paparazzi would camp out of her house, stalking her non-stop and she would happily make them coffee because after all “they’re just doing their job, darlin’”. Once, during a gig it rained and then the sun came out and one minute earlier she had said the sun would come out and she fangirled in front of the audience about that tiny detail. Her laughter was intoxicating, she was very intuitive and direct with people; she knew if someone interested her and she payed attention to them and she knew when she didn’t give a fuck about something/someone and she indeed gave no fucks. She was spontaneous, authentically present in everything she ever chose to do or not do. Brilliantly self-aware, charismatic, kind, child-like; she could win you over with a glance. She improvised a lot and was hugely creative but she could put all of her heart into something only when she went through painful stages/aching for something real. She was an open book: you could tell when she was miserable and you could tell when she was head over hills and happy. Intense, she was intense. Everything was too much or too little with Amy. She loved London, I think she’d like to have her name associated with it. She loved her nan, she dreamt about her a lot after she died and considered her one of the people who had been closest to her overall. She adored tattoos and was drawn by the idea that you come to ache for the things that mean a lot to you. She loved her husband, they were both born on September 14th, she always thought he was the male her and they were soulmates. She wanted to become a mother and felt pretty maternal toward people all her life. She loved pets, owned many kittens. You could guess she had daddy issues but this is none of your business. She experienced her emotions, wrote from the heart, sang the soul and battled against her own personal demons, battled to the fucking end and won. Because she loved till her last breath and there are so many interesting stories but if you’re willing to really hear something, listen to that: the world, that privileged motherfucking world, couldn’t take the magic. Favourite song is forever Wake Up Alone. Besides, you know this is true…

"They don’t make it 
the beautiful die in flame —
suicide pills, rat poison, rope what- 
ever… 
they rip their arms off, 
throw themselves out of windows
they pull their eyes out of the sockets, 
reject love 
reject hate 
reject, reject. 

they don’t make it 
the beautiful can’t endure, 
they are butterflies 
they are doves 
they are sparrows, 
they don’t make it. 

one tall shot of flame 
while the old men play checkers in the park 
one flame, one good flame 
while the old men play checkers in the park 
in the sun. 

the beautiful are found in the edge of a room 
crumpled into spiders and needles and silence 
and we can never understand why they 
left, they were so 
beautiful. 

they don’t make it, 
the beautiful die young 
and leave the ugly to their ugly lives.”


 Amy Winehouse by Carolyn Djanogly