102-Year-Old Abandoned Ship is a Floating Forest / Image by Andy Brill
The SS Ayrfield is one of many decommissioned ships in the Homebush Bay, just west of Sydney, but what separates it from the other stranded vessels is the incredible foliage that adorns the rusted hull. The beautiful spectacle, also referred to as The Floating Forest, adds a bit of life to the area, which happens to be a sort of ship graveyard.
I love nature and its constant reminders that it wants to swallow us back into itself and that nothing we do can really hurt it more than it can hurt us
i love nature reminding us “hurt” is a human illusion, that the continuity of our being we consider essential has no meaning to the wider world. love being reminded that the men who toiled belowdecks on that squalid old steam collier, shoveling fossilized swamp algae into a fire to help keep the biggest empire that had ever existed afloat, they’re all just as much as the steam collier turning into new things, changing and being redefined and restructured. if a twelve year old boy worked on that ship when it was new (and in those days such things happened) he wouldn’t even be a skeleton today, nor even the worms that pick skeletons clean, but a constellation of new life created from new life created from new life. nature is cool because wherever you go, there it is, and wherever it goes, there you aren’t. also sometimes it turns old steamer hulks into low-rent, no-account harbor islands in the world’s worst country. nature is beautiful
Aside from the above rather charged opinions, I just see shades of The Scar here.
Laurie Penny’s Saudade
There are more of us than you think, kicking off our high-heeled shoes to run and being told not so fast
The best minds of my generation consumed by craving, furious half naked starving-
Who ripped tights and dripping make up smoked alone in bedsits bare mattresses waiting for transfiguration.
Who ran half dressed out of department stores yelling that we didn’t want to be good and beautiful
Who glowing high and hopeful were the last to leave the gig our skin crackling with lust and sweat and pure music
Who wrote poetry on each other’s arms and cared more about fucking than being fuckable
Who worked until our backs stiffened and our limbs sang with the memory of misbehaviour that was what it was to be a woman
Who dared to dance until dawn and were drugged and raped by men in clean T-shirts and woke up scared and sore to be told it was our fault
Who swallowed bosses’ patronizing side-eyes stole away from violent broken boys in the middle of the night and vowed never again to try to fix the world one man at a time
Who slammed down the tray of drinks and tore off our aprons and aching smiles and went scowling out into the streets looking for change
Who stripped in dark rooms for strangers’ anodyne dollars because we wanted education and were told we were traitors
Who sat faces upturned to the glow of the network searching searching for strangers who would call us pretty
Who bared our breasts to hidden cameras and fought and fought and fought to be human
Who waited in grim hallways with synth-pop crackling over the speaker system for the doctor to call us clutching fistfuls of pamphlets calling us sluts whores murderers
Who crossed continents alone with knapsacks full of books bare limbs clear-eyed vision running running from the homes that held our mothers down
Who filled notebooks with gibberish philosophy and scraps of stories and cameras to prove we were there keeping our novels and the name of out children close to our hearts
Who were told all our lives that we were too loud too tisky too fat too ugly too scruffy too selfish too much too and refused to take up less space refused to be still refused refused refused to be tame
Who would never be still. Who would never shut up. Who were punished for it and spat and snarled and they shook the bars of our cages until they snapped and they called us wild and crazy and we laughed with mouths open hearts open hands open and would never not ever be tame.
Sara, I’m with you in hospital, in the narroe rooms where you have put off your veil to count your ribs through your T-shirt, short hair and secrets and quiet defiance crying together that we don’t know how to be perfect-
Lara, I’m with you in mandatory art therapy, where we draw pictures of weeping cocks and are told we are not making progress-
Lila, I’m with you in a north London bathdroom, watchhing unreal maggots crawl in the cuts in your arms and listening to your girlfriend drunk and raging through the wall-
Andy, I’m with you in Bethnal Green where you love ambitious angry women with heart brain pen fingers tongue and you have a line from Nietzche tattooed over your cunt-
Adele, I’m with you in the student occupation, with your lipstick and cloche hat and teenage lisp drawling that there’s not enough fucking in this revolution and we must take action-
Kay, I’m with you on the night bus, half drunk and high dragging bright-eyed boys home to our bed, where we watch them worn out sleeping and whisper that we will never be married-
Katie, I’m with you in Zuccotti Park, where a broken heart is less important than a broken laptop is less important than a broken future and we watch the cops beating kids bloody on the pavement for daring to ask for more-
Tara, I’m with you in Islington where you have thrown all your pretty dresses out of the window and flushed your medication so you can write and write-
Alex, I’m with you and a bottle of Scotch at two in the morning when you tell me that no man will make us live for ever and we must seduce the city the country the world-
We are always hungry.
There are more of us than you think. —
Laurie Penny’s Saudade, from Fifty Shades of Feminism (via mollycrabapple)
This girl wearing a “Stand back, I’m going to use SCIENCE” shirt under a Hogwart’s hoodie.
When did we make the transition from having to make an effort to acquire information in order to be productive, to having to make an effort to ignore information in order to be productive?
The Dreamer 2
Acrylic on Old Photograph and Wood Frame
19 x 18 inches
(via Retronaut - Vaught’s Practical Character Reader)
Excellent phrenological illustrations here.
fly high across the sky: “Millennials Are Poor Schlubs Living On Breast Milk (Still?),” Says Underpaid Boomer Columnist Who Doesn’t Like Twitter -
I have read all the articles and I have these requests:
• Stop talking about how my generation is pathetic because some of us live at home after college. The economy crashed because generations before us were greedy and irresponsible with money, not because we spent too much time as teenagers watching Internet porn. (Also, some millennials live at home after college because boomer parents are so fucking rich that kids don’t have any incentive to move into crappy apartments with 5 roommates when they can just stay at home and steal their dad’s beers and swim in their parents’ giant pools.)
• Stop only interviewing that one person who went to a fancy school and did not immediately get their dream job for these articles. Why not interview some people who aren’t living at home mostly cuz their parents’ house is nice, and who actually do present a strain to their entire family’s economic resources when they live at home? Now that’s hardship.
• Stop calling us materialistic. I work in marketing and what millennials want are sustainable products that they can feel not-evil buying. Their demands are actually making businesses change the way they operate.
• Stop worrying about when we will finally catch up. Yes we see having a McMansions as generally unattainable for our generation. But we don’t want them. That’s because we understand that America briefly created a period of unsustainable middle-class wealth by consuming resources that will now need to be shared with a growing global population. We don’t want America to continue hoarding it all cuz we can actually see what other countries think because of the Internet and it makes us feel horrible.
• Stop being upset that we believe in Christianity and American exceptionalism less than other generations did. We do not perceive blind patriotism and belief in God to be necessary traits for living a “moral” lifestyle. We will probably be more peaceful and less homophobic because of this.
• Stop saying that we all have ADD and other mental impairments because of the Internet. Yes it is an unprecedented technology but we know you are just jealous you didn’t get to spend your youth watching Downton Abbey on Netflix while Gchatting your friends and learning a marketable skill on a pirated version of Photoshop. Don’t lie.
Photo is Becky in what was once a Bloomingdale’s, which closed because it did not anticipate that the next generation only wants to shop at Forever 21 and Zara, by Neil Olstad.
Not entirely sure where I stand here, just opening up the dialogue a little here. Pls to discuss.
1. Print this photo.
2. Throw it in a Christmas card.
3. Send it to family you haven’t seen in over five years.
tattooing “STILL GOTH” on my back to celebrate the death of the signifier/signified relationship