November 21, 2009
boredintheburbs: (via pinkrose)

boredintheburbs:

(via pinkrose)

November 20, 2009
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

lacontessa:

Ladyhawke — Paris S’Enflamme

(Paris Is Burning in French… you know it)

November 19, 2009
theswingingsixties: i12bent: Man Ray: Catherine Deneuve, w. lampshade earrings, 1966

theswingingsixties:

i12bent: Man Ray: Catherine Deneuve, w. lampshade earrings, 1966

November 18, 2009
definatalie: Oh Charlotte Gainsbourg, you are lovely. Agreed, but then again, with that DNA, how could she not be? 

definatalie:

Oh Charlotte Gainsbourg, you are lovely.

Agreed, but then again, with that DNA, how could she not be? 

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

frenchelon:

Charlotte Gainsbourg - Heaven Can Wait

This song is trop catchy.  Love me some Gainsbourg.

idlewildsouth:

littlefishes:

All of van Gogh’s self portraits, pretty cool to watch the metamorphosis.

Françoise Hardy - Rendez-voous d’automne

(via supersonicelectronic)

(via supersonicelectronic)

November 17, 2009
Françoise Hardy

Françoise Hardy

feastingonroadkill: Paul Eluard - Surrealist Poet. (1895-1952) “All my desires are born of my dreams. And I have proven my love with words. To what fantastic creatures have I entrusted myself, in what dolorous and ravishing world has my imagination enclosed me? I am sure of having been loved in the most mysterious of domains, my own. The language of my love does not belong to human language, my human body does not touch the flesh of my love. My amorous imagination has always been constant and high enough so that nothing could attempt to convince me of error.”

feastingonroadkill:

Paul Eluard - Surrealist Poet. (1895-1952)

“All my desires are born of my dreams. And I have proven my love with words. To what fantastic creatures have I entrusted myself, in what dolorous and ravishing world has my imagination enclosed me?

I am sure of having been loved in the most mysterious of domains, my own.

The language of my love does not belong to human language, my human body does not touch the flesh of my love.

My amorous imagination has always been constant and high enough so that nothing could attempt to convince me of error.”