technicolor

it's hot here. i guess i'm echoing that in these pictures.
fleeing back to the north, where the weather should be more suiting for my long-sleeved self.

slits

do you spot that zana bayne pentagram harness?

(c: yvanrodic)

dustily

laceup wedges on the brain, mirrored by a building.

(c: julietta, yvanrodic)

lycheesoak

mmm.

(c: yvanrodic, flickr)

Paeonia lactiflora

mid-day yoga to break up monotonous, testy computer work coupled with bad posture.

it looks like she's lounging in flowers. peonies, to be exact.

(c: maja, zoltlevay, lovemissb)

monkey hands

an octopus.

a dot.

a button.

(c: annabel)

aventurine

(c: yvanrodic)

deconstruct

don't deconstruct, and fill me in.
i'm not that basic; i swear.
i've had enough of breakdowns and diagrams.

basically the summation of my current life: excel spreadsheets, graphs, countless numbers and values and wavelengths and nanometers and reflectivity and spectralons and graycards.
and no flowers. no fruit. no fruition. so far.

(c: heather pedersen)

equihen, france

"This is my uncle, John Barron, standing on the shore of the village of Equihen, France, where he and my father grew up.

John was a true sartorialist; when the other kids were running around in shorts and espadrilles, he would carefully craft an ensemble to wear to the beach. His cravat here is probably one of my grandfather’s oversized handkerchiefs. One of John’s best friends was a Parisienne who came to Equihen for her summers; she scandalized the village by promenading down the main street in beach pajamas. It was the first time the village women had seen a lady wearing trousers.

John was killed in a torpedo attack during World II. A couple of years ago, I got to see his diary, which was filled with expressions of longing for his boyfriend, a British army officer serving in South Africa. It was the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever read."

normally i don't get so affected by pictures and their accompanying text. for some reason, this hit me.

(c: thesartorialist)

epiphyte

air-dwelling plants tied to a string.

i'd like to wear it. or maybe just have them floating from my ceiling.

(c: the selby)