sublimespy:

Gerhard Richter, Two Candles, 1982, 110 cm x 140 cm, oil on canvas

(Source: ashleyjessup, via art-it)

(Source: )

sbentheviking:

Nakagin Capsule Building - 1972- Kisho Kurokawa 

(via theastonishingpost)

you-need-satan:

Zdzisław Beksiński

(Source: geluh, via ipaintmyownreality)

(Source: lecadavreexquisboiralevinnouveau, via owlbert-king)

(Source: uoa, via twinb)

Humor me once more about the simulacron

If the touch is but a nerve ending, then what of life?

Does it matter if we are ghosts in a machine?

Awaiting to one day be woken up from our electric slumber?

A taste of neurons and electrons stimulate our own machine

But it is nothing more than a fleeting idea.

This reality, this consciousness of what is real, does not and will not ever be determined

Who’s to say I am who I am and you are who you are?

What if I am who you are and you are who I am and so therefore I am you and you are I.

What matter of it if we are all just a simulation?

What matter of it if we are not real?

Will the crisis of capitalism and austerity simply vanish if we close our eyes?

Will the occupy movements simply disperse if I don’t bother to read about it?

Will Romney pick Joseph Kony as his running mate if the fads on facebook evolve?

Are we really just ghosts, alienated from one another slowly drifting away our collective memory? 

Will this eventually end?

What matter is it if one simply disappears?

Are they not just an abstract idea of what a person is?  Or ought to be?

Are our lives simply a world on a wire?

Who is controlling who or what?

How can there be a present if there is not a future nor a past?

We simply are ghosts.

(Source: blua, via voice-s)