You Pull A Face, And Poke It Towards The Stage, And We La-di-dah, We Sing And Dance And Tumble Around.

You pull a face, and poke it towards the stage, and we la-di-dah, we sing and dance and tumble around. And all you see up here, it’s not people, you don’t see people up here, it’s all fodder. And the faker the fodder the more you love it, because fake fodder’s the only thing that works anymore. It’s all that we can stomach. Actually, not quite all. Real pain, real viciousness, that we can take. Yeah, stick a fat man up a pole. We laugh ourselves feral, because we’ve earned the right, we’ve done cell time and he’s slacking, the scum, so ha-ha-ha at him! Because we’re so out of our minds with desperation, we don’t know any better. All we know is fake fodder and buying shit. That’s how we speak to each other, how we express ourselves, is buying shit. 

Black Mirror [2011-Present]

Diane Guerrero photographed by Magdalena Niziol

Camila Mendes photographed by Matt Priestley for Nylon Magazine

*saves homework for sunday night but is too tired to do it sunday night*

When I think of my wife, I always think of her head. I picture cracking her lovely skull, unspooling her brains, trying to get answers. The primal questions of any marriage: What are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other?

— Gone Girl (2014) dir. David Fincher