Lake by the Atlantic Ocean

unashamedly-enthusiastic:

mortalmab:

mille-marteaux:

circuitofficial:

mille-marteaux:

mille-marteaux:

mille-marteaux:

mille-marteaux:

ordered pizza from a small local place and they didnt actually cut it so i’ve chosen to revert to a wild animal and begin ripping it apart instead of just using a knife to portion slices

absolutely visceral experience. food is so much more satisfying when you have to fight it. i may be feral

i am not proud to say this but that pizza lasted fifteen minutes. i normally am not that gluttonous, but this goes beyond glutton. there was gluttony and wrath. a whirlwind of sauce, cheese, and pepperoni, all atop a flatbread that was shred apart by my own hands due to the neglect of another

in that moment i was wild. i was free. i understood the simplest joys in life. the joy of eating and manifesting my own destiny

been reflecting on this all day and the unsliced pizza experience honestly ruled. i think everyone should try it sometime or another. you have not truly lived until you just absolutely obliterated a pizza in such a feral manner

is this you

yes

run

My best friend and I have this tradition we call “chicken dinner” where we get a rotisserie chicken, lay it on a tarp, start on opposite ends of the tarp, and on the count of three we both run at the chicken and start ripping into it with our bear hands. We will be on our knees fighting for the best pieces of meat, ripping into the chicken with our faces, and it is the most viscerally delicious chicken I have ever had in my life. Grease gets everywhere. We have to do this outside. We have to tie our hair in buns beforehand.

You have never known the joy of food until you are lunging at your friend to rip the best part of the chicken out of their hand, rolling around on the tarp, stuffing it in your face before they can retaliate, and you realize “holy shit did I just growl?” And then you realize they are doing it too.

The chicken gets decimated. It’s absolutely destroyed. We aren’t allowed back inside until we have been hosed down. It’s the best.

(via thisisfinedotjpeg)

Some people assume that a filmed image just inherently looks a certain way, and when I do my thing, I’m altering or faking it. But I’m not. It always has to go through some process, no matter what. Otherwise, it would be like if you shot a film negative and never developed it. There’s always a transformation from the pure digital sensor or film negative data into the rendered photograph. I’m just actually using that leverage point.

How Poker Face cinematographer Steve Yedlin, a self-taught coder, makes digital video look like celluloid.

The metaphors we use for intellectual debate—the “intellectual arena,” “marketplace of ideas”—don’t quite fit. Gladiators died. Firms can fail. But in the actual world of ideas, credibility is hard to lose once you’ve been given it. Having a few Iraq War dead-enders and dabblers in race science around keeps things fresh and interesting. The task isn’t so much picking out the bad people but spotting the bad sports—because a bad sport, it is supposed, is a bad thinker. The discourse, so conceived, isn’t an arena or a marketplace, but an endless cocktail party. Few are invited, but no one ever really leaves, not even the man turning green in the corner, set to vomit all over the carpet yet again.

The Enemies of Truth

chewbacca:

How’d you get down here? I told you to go to the roof.

THE NICE GUYS, 2016

(via junkfoodcinemas)