I've got a Bakewell heart

fatpeoplemakemehappy:

thelovelettur:

i thought this was an everything bagel with a ribbon tied around it

(via nataliemeansnice)

areyoutryingtodeduceme:

cumberqueen:

Benedict Cumberbatch  (high res) as Julian Assange in the upcoming Wikileaks movie The Fifth Estate. 

And this is what Julian Assange looks like irl

Despite being really taken aback by what a different look this is for Benedict, bear in mind that he is an actor and it is his job to adapt his looks for his roles. That’s sort of what is amazing about Benedict. Anyway. I’m really excited to see his performance in this movie now o_o

Give that hair a good tease, maybe a some lavender and violet highlights. Hmmmm. Yeah. I’d still make some sweet, kinky love to ‘im.

lylaandblu:

Del Popolo | Mobile Pizzeria 

this is a real thing, and i am speechless. 

(Source: mchl)

laughingsquid:

Coffee + Donut Stout Beer Making Kit

(via bexelated)

gammasandgerunds:

Vigils

I

This is luminous repose, neither fever nor languor, in a bed or a meadow.
      This is the friend, neither cool nor importunate. Friend.
      This is the loved one, neither tormentor nor tormented. Loved one.
      Air and world, in no way sought for. Life.
      —So it was this?
      —And the dream comes on.

II

Light reverts, over the central joist. From the two ends of the room, unremarkable motifs, harmonic elevations that meet. The wall facing the observer is a psychological sequence of friezes in cross-section, atmospheric seams, geological strata.—A vivid, fleeting dream, with sentimental groups… beings of all kinds, in every conceivable guise.

III

The lamps and hearthrugs of the vigil sound like waves along the hull at night and deep below decks.
      Sea of the vigil, like Amélie’s breasts.
      The wall-hangings, up to halfway, an undergrowth of emerald-tinted lace where the doves of the vigil dart.
…………………………………………………………………………………………..
      On the fireback in the blackened hearth, real suns on coastal strands: ah! wells of magic; only the one glimpse of dawn this time.

—Rimbaud (tr. Jeremy Harding) 

(via leopoldgursky)

mishalmoorebloggyblog:

As seen on Facebook. (posted by Homestead Survival)

A sweet lesson on patience. 

A NYC Taxi driver wrote:

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and glassware.

‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’

‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive
through downtown?’

‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..

‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired.Let’s go now’.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.

‘Nothing,’ I said

‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.

‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.

‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

(via notesfromthegarden)

combustamove:

clawsandfangs:

myrcellad:

Lily Allen - “Alfie”

SHUT. UP.

(Source: jehaned, via thisisnotbruce)

(x)

(Source: daenerysknope, via bbook)

Caitlin Moran’s extraordinary way of describing Benedict’s performance.  (via lornasp)

(via cumberbatchcollection-deactivat)

dumbalecki:

that awkward moment an elephant can paint better than you

(Source: divertingdiversions, via casinpanties)