A Modern Calamity

Where I put the rest of the stuff that rolls out of my warped psyche.
May consist of good looking men, both clothed and unclothed, doing all kinds of things, so lets just title this lil bit of fun as "no kiddies".
Ask me anything

Tumblr theme by ahhfred

May 16th, 2012

Dear Roger: Her Role Model Was A Monkey, What Did You Expect

May 15th, 2012

(Source: silverpeaks, via pandoras-open-box)

punkpistol-seditionaries: . PLEASE RELEASE ME PunkPistol @ www.SEDITIONARIES.com .

punkpistol-seditionaries:

.

PLEASE RELEASE ME

PunkPistol @ www.SEDITIONARIES.com

.

(via dishevelleddomina)

(Source: oneiricdogs, via dishevelleddomina)

(Source: flickr.com, via dishevelleddomina)

(Source: shrbr, via dishevelleddomina)

yellowasian: doug porter | joseph bleu

yellowasian:

doug porter | joseph bleu

(via endlessrepetition)

dishevelleddomina: I want more kilt porn, dammit. LOTS more kilt porn.  Make it so.

dishevelleddomina:

I want more kilt porn, dammit. LOTS more kilt porn. 

Make it so.

(Source: thebedroom)

(Source: lovingmalemodels, via pandoras-open-box)

tylerdehate: 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. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. Jack Kerouac - On The Road

tylerdehate:

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. I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.

Jack Kerouac - On The Road

(via wordpainting)