harperperennial:

harperbooks:

I went upstairs to visit our first edition of Gabriel Garcia Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude. Happy birthday, sir.

Back when I used to work at Harper I visited often. This was from a little over two years ago.
Mary told me while I was shuffling through a file cabinet on another floor. We’re moving soon, see, and all of the files crammed into cabinets lining our hallways need to be sorted, claimed, and possibly archived. I was thumbing through press clips from Charles Bukowski and John Fante’s books, newsprint that someone had cut out and pasted onto copy paper, now brittle and floating free of the dried-up adhesive. Her voice was tight.
This is an imprint, the news about his illness had hit weeks ago, we knew this was coming. But it still hurts. You can never be prepared for this kind of thing, and you’ll end up crying over all that we have left: their words, their history. I closed the drawer on Bukowski and Fante and rested my forehead on the cool metal. The world had just become a little…less.
In the flurry of the news a demand will surge. People will share their stories, how Gabo’s beautiful words touched their hearts and changed their lives. Some will scurry to find out more about this author they just heard about and others will grasp into this new void for all that they have left, adding to private collections or pressing old favorites into the hands of friends. It’s funny how we have to do business, take a moment for ourselves but then focus on getting books out the door. The world is in mourning and this is what they need.
It’ll hit us later, after we’ve finished filing and closed out of our inboxes. We’ll become overwhelmed with sadness and yearning and a little bit of hatred toward whoever/whatever did this, took him from us. But then we’ll be able to turn to his books.
We’ll be able to feel the magic again.
We’ll read.

harperperennial:

harperbooks:

I went upstairs to visit our first edition of Gabriel Garcia Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude. Happy birthday, sir.

Back when I used to work at Harper I visited often. This was from a little over two years ago.

Mary told me while I was shuffling through a file cabinet on another floor. We’re moving soon, see, and all of the files crammed into cabinets lining our hallways need to be sorted, claimed, and possibly archived. I was thumbing through press clips from Charles Bukowski and John Fante’s books, newsprint that someone had cut out and pasted onto copy paper, now brittle and floating free of the dried-up adhesive. Her voice was tight.

This is an imprint, the news about his illness had hit weeks ago, we knew this was coming. But it still hurts. You can never be prepared for this kind of thing, and you’ll end up crying over all that we have left: their words, their history. I closed the drawer on Bukowski and Fante and rested my forehead on the cool metal. The world had just become a little…less.

In the flurry of the news a demand will surge. People will share their stories, how Gabo’s beautiful words touched their hearts and changed their lives. Some will scurry to find out more about this author they just heard about and others will grasp into this new void for all that they have left, adding to private collections or pressing old favorites into the hands of friends. It’s funny how we have to do business, take a moment for ourselves but then focus on getting books out the door. The world is in mourning and this is what they need.

It’ll hit us later, after we’ve finished filing and closed out of our inboxes. We’ll become overwhelmed with sadness and yearning and a little bit of hatred toward whoever/whatever did this, took him from us. But then we’ll be able to turn to his books.

We’ll be able to feel the magic again.

We’ll read.

pidgeonpeep:

me when im drunk

(Source: lordoftheflygons)

theghostofyourliess:

Men’s Rights Activists

theghostofyourliess:

Men’s Rights Activists

(Source: youll-never-get-me-alive)

(Source: loveandsausages)

trendingly:

What Cities Would Look Like Without Lights

Artist Thierry Cohen photographs the world’s major cities, seeking out views that resonate for him and noting the precise time, angle, and latitude and longitude of his exposure. 

By noting the precise latitude and angle of his cityscape, Thierry Cohen is able to track the earth’s rotation to places of atmospheric clarity like the Mojave, the Sahara, and the Atacama desert. There he sets up his camera to record what is lost to modern urban dwellers. Compositing the two images, Cohen creates a single new image full of resonance and nuance. 
The work is both political and spiritual questioning not only what we are doing to the planet but drawing unexpected connections between disparate locations. Equally importantly it asks: what do we miss by obscuring the visibility of stars? As the world’s population becomes increasingly urban, there is a disjunction with the natural world which both Cohen and science posit causes both physical and psychological harm. Cities that never sleep are made up of millions of individuals breaking natural cycles of work and repose. Cohen’s photographs attempt to restore our vision, and in beautifully crafted prints and images offer the viewer a possibility - to re-connect us to the infinite energy of the stars. 
I am both bears
every day

I am both bears

every day

as soon as you have a baby, you get hidden from my facebook feed.

I’m not even sorry.

mike-the-bridge:

Life motto.

mike-the-bridge:

Life motto.

(Source: jacknicholson)

peenslayer:

drunk me is the me i really want to be. confident, hilarious and, most importantly, drunk. 

nevver:

Looks like rain, Jeremy Mann