cheatin'cherrypickin'cheerleader

Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

25 Sep 2009
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6 notes

work is more fun tonight than it usually is

jmuffin:

thankyou for my birthday present, yet again mother!

it has proven quite handy >.>

Ahh, that would be one of those books, right?………………..right?

20 Sep 2009
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1 note

This residence has been previously raided by the drug squad who removed a forest of pot plants and lighting equipment. Dickheads got busted by stealing electricity. There are at least five people in that house tonight but not a fuckin sound.

20 Sep 2009
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3 notes

dodgy neighbours

So, we came home today to see yet more -never-seen-your-arse-before-and-probably-won’t-again randoms next door, a broken wardrobe sitting on the footpath outside of their house. Nicked out on an errand, found said wardrobe dumped outside my house. Fuck you. Kindly told them (while they feined not understanding the English language) to move it back and if they called the council, it would be removed for free. They didn’t move it, so we ever-so-nicely dragged it back to whence it came. It’s war-drobe.

10 Sep 2009
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2 notes

shake, rattle & roll (original)

Get outta that bed, wash your face and hands

Get outta that bed, wash your face and hands

Well, you get in that kitchen, make some noise with the pots ‘n pans

Way you wear those dresses, the sun comes shinin’ through

Way you wear those dresses, the sun comes shinin’ through

I can’t believe my eyes, all that mess belongs to you

I believe to the soul you’re the devil in nylon hose

I believe to the soul you’re the devil in nylon hose

Well, the more I work, the faster my money goes

I said shake, rattle and roll, Shake, rattle and roll

Shake, rattle and roll, Shake, rattle and roll

Well, you won’t do right to save your doggone soul

Yeah, blow Joe!

I’m like a one-eyed cat peepin’ in a seafood store

I’m like a one-eyed cat peepin’ in a seafood store

Well I can look at you till you ain’t no child no more

Ah, shake, rattle and roll, Shake, rattle and roll

Shake, rattle and roll, Shake, rattle and roll

Well, you won’t do right to save your doggone soul

I get over the hill and way down underneath

I get over the hill and way down underneath

You make me roll my eyes, even make me grit my teeth

I said shake, rattle and roll, Shake, rattle and roll

Shake, rattle and roll, Shake, rattle and roll

Well, you won’t do nothin’ to save your doggone soul

6 Sep 2009
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131 notes

bonitaapplebaum:

wutheringworlds:

liquidnight:

wickedhalo:

On May 1, 1947, Evelyn McHale leapt to her death from the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Photographer Robert Wiles took a photo of McHale a few minutes after her death.

The photo ran a couple of weeks later in Life magazine accompanied by the following caption:

On May Day, just after leaving her fiancé, 23-year-old Evelyn McHale wrote a note. ‘He is much better off without me … I wouldn’t make a good wife for anybody,’ … Then she crossed it out. She went to the observation platform of the Empire State Building. Through the mist she gazed at the street, 86 floors below. Then she jumped. In her desperate determination she leaped clear of the setbacks and hit a United Nations limousine parked at the curb. Across the street photography student Robert Wiles heard an explosive crash. Just four minutes after Evelyn McHale’s death Wiles got this picture of death’s violence and its composure.

From McHale’s NY Times obituary, Empire State Ends Life of Girl, 20:

At 10:40 A. M., Patrolman John Morrissey of Traffic C, directing traffic at Thirty-fourth Street and Fifth Avenue, noticed a swirling white scarf floating down from the upper floors of the Empire State. A moment later he heard a crash that sounded like an explosion. He saw a crowd converge in Thirty-third Street.

Two hundred feet west of Fifth Avenue, Miss McHale’s body landed atop the car. The impact stove in the metal roof and shattered the car’s windows. The driver was in a near-by drug store, thereby escaping death or serious injury.

On the observation deck, Detective Frank Murray of the West Thirtieth Street station, found Miss McHale’s gray cloth coat, her pocketbook with several dollars and the note, and a make-up kit filled with family pictures.

The serenity of McHale’s body amidst the crumpled wreckage it caused is astounding. Years later, Andy Warholappropriated Wiles’ photography for a print called Suicide (Fallen Body).