HOOKED ON MR. WANG.

The best hooker boots you have ever seen? Oh, Wang.

THE HUMBLE ABODE.

For your viewing pleasure...http://www.thewildernessdowntown.com/

DEAD BEATS.

Deadbeats are hedonists.

REALITY IS STRANGER THAN FICTION.

ANDROGYNY.

Ruby lips or Ruby hips?

SILENCE.

"One should rest in anonymity. Too many hands leave a bitter taste."

HOW LONG IS NOW?

"It's a sad thing to think of, but there is no doubt the Genius lasts longer than Beauty. That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to over-educate ourselves. In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have something that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. The thoroughly well-informed man - that is the modern ideal. And the mind of the thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-à-brac shop, all monsters and dust, with everything priced above its proper value. I think you will tire first, all the same. Some day you will look at your friend, and he will seem to you to be a little out of drawing, or you won't like his tone of colour, or something. You will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriously think that he has behaved very badly to you. The next time he calls, you will be perfectly cold and indifferent. It will be a great pity, for it will alter you. What you have told me is quite a romance, a romance of art one might call it, and the worst of having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so unromantic."

NO BLACK.

COLOUR YOUR PETS.

THE LITTLE THINGS.

AUBREY NOT AUDREY.

“In the present age, alas! our pens are ravished by unlettered authors and unmannered critics, that make a havoc rather than a building, a wilderness rather than a garden. But, a lack! what boots it to drop tears upon the preterit?”

Aubrey Beardsley.

AUDREY NOT AUBREY.

Audrey Kawasaki, you're okay.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN TIME TRAVEL?

PLEASE PERV: http://www.graveface.com/bmsr_darkbubbles/

NEW YORK.

Welcome home ladies.
NYC - I can't wait to meet you.








"I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was — I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds."

OH HIGH, SLUMS, I DIDN'T SEE YOU THERE.

Fuck the World Cup.
Fuck hard drugs. Fuck anti-soft-drugs. Pro fucking choice.
Place of birth should not render you helpless. Fuck.
Fuck I sound like Jean-Jacques Rousseau.