It’s like watching a cobra playing with balloons.

Russell Brand Owns Sir Stuffy McStufferson From Stuffishire.

No more going to the dark side with your flying saucer eyes
No more falling down a wormhole that I have to pull you out
— thom yorke
Album Art

A tear in my brain

Allows the voices in

They wanna push you off the path

With their frequency wires

And you can do no wrong

In my eyes, in my eyes

You can do no wrong

In my eyes, in my eyes

A drunken salesman

Your hearing damage

Your mind is restless

They say you’re getting better

But you don’t feel any better

Your speakers are blowing

Your ears are wrecking

Your hearing damage

You wish you felt better

You wish you felt better

You can do no wrong

In my eyes, in my eyes

You can do no wrong

In my eyes, in my eyes

ArtistThom Yorke
TitleHearing Damage

Alan Watts, Allen Ginsberg, Claudio Naranjo, John Perry - madness, LSD, shamanism, schizophrenia

Does character develop over time? In novels, of course it does: otherwise there wouldn’t be much of a story. But in life? I sometimes wonder. Our attitudes and opinions change, we develop new habits and eccentricities; but that’s something different, more like decoration. Perhaps character resembles intelligence, except that character peaks a little later: between twenty and thirty, say. And after that, we’re just stuck with what we’ve got. We’re on our own. If so, that would explain a lot of lives, wouldn’t it? And also – if this isn’t too grand a word – our tragedy. — Julian Barnes, The Sense of an Ending (via talesofpassingtime)

(via lazybumclub)

Damien Jurado - So On, Nevada (Live on KEXP)

We horsed around a little bit in the cab on the way over to the theater. At first she didn’t want to, because she had her lipstick on and all, but I was being seductive as hell and she didn’t have any alternative… Then, just to show you how crazy I am, when we were coming out of this big clinch, I told her I loved her and all. It was a lie, of course, but the thing is, I meant it when I said it.

The Catcher in the Rye

I used to think she was quite intelligent, in my stupidity. The reason I did was because she knew quite a lot about the theater and plays and literature and all that stuff. If somebody knows quite a lot about those things, it takes you quite a while to find out whether they’re really stupid or not. It took me years to find it out, in old Sally’s case. I think I’d have found it out a lot sooner if we hadn’t necked so damn much. My big trouble is, I always sort of think whoever I’m necking is a pretty intelligent person. It hasn’t got a goddam thing to do with it, but I keep thinking it anyway.

The Catcher in the Rye

Fax sent to The Simpsons by Thomas Pynchon with his (edited) jokes written on the script .

Fax sent to The Simpsons by Thomas Pynchon with his (edited) jokes written on the script .

I always imagine them at nightfall, in the dusk of a slum or a vacant lot, in that long, quiet moment when things are gradually left alone, with their backs to the sunset, and when colors are like memories or premonitions of other colors. We must not be too prodigal with our angels; they are the last divinities we harbor, and they might fly away. — Jorge Luis Borges, “A History of Angels” (via elucipher)

(via humphreyking)

I just invented the world’s first MRI machine that can test patients for claustrophobia.  It needs no power.