—bee:True.

—bee:True.

never gets old..

How Zoë Kravitz Lives Her Best Life »

fy-zoeisabella:

The actress—who plays Will Smith’s fearless daughter in this month’s After Earth—goes weak for California burgers and stays strong with advice from Dad.

Best Adrenaline Rush
Any live performance, whether it’s in a play or with the Citizens Band, a political cabaret group that I sometimes sing with. I get so nervous before I go onstage—beyond butterflies! 

Best Comfort Food
I would fly to Los Angeles just for a cheeseburger with pickles and extra tomatoes from In-N-Out. As a kid, I wasn’t allowed to eat fast food—my mom [Lisa Bonet] was too health conscious—so when my friends got their driver’s licenses, I started sneaking it. 

Best Lesson from Dad
March to your own beat. Yes, it’s a cliché, but this industry can be judgmental, and it’s easy to feel like you want to change according to what’s cool at that moment. My dad [Lenny Kravitz] has stayed true to himself, and that’s led me to do the same. 

Best Splurge
An 1800s silk robe from a London flea market. It’s too tattered to wear, but I have a thing for faded colors and beautiful fabrics. 

Best Birthday
When I turned 11, my dad decorated a room at the Standard hotel in Los Angeles in a ’60s, Austin Powers style. There was human bowling: You run inside a giant inflatable ball and try to knock down pins. To this day, adults say it was one of the craziest parties they’ve ever been to. 

Best Saturday Morning
A drawn-out brunch over lots and lots of food with good friends and family. I always order a Bloody Maria, a Bloody Mary with tequila instead of vodka. And then I go home and nap.

<3<3<3

Sprinkled some confetti cause I.run.da.block

Sprinkled some confetti cause I.run.da.block

at Santos Party House

at Santos Party House

Notes

pavorst:

For a while now, I’ve wanted to watch the habits of other writers. I’ve skulked in the corners of coffee shops and public libraries and watched as people wrote notes. I watched the process, the odd staccato of stops and starts. I admired the curled loops of an ancient verse, the winding script of foreign languages. And there have been things I’ve learned about writing that I should really write down. Here’s a little list.

  1. 1.Disconnect. Disconnect from the Internet, from the rest of the world. Build yourself a cocoon of spidersilk and rest there for some time as the hive of voices in your head untangles its assault on your mind. Disconnect and let the pen roam on the piece of paper.
  2. 2.Write. Not type, not text. But write. Take a piece of paper into your hands and feel the soft virgin page between your fingers. Simple enjoy the scent of ink, the scratch of your pen on something tangible. The ideas will escape in floods.
  3. 3.For an hour in the morning, write to get rid of the garbage. The crusted up sleepdust of words that you’ve gathered together for your entire life. You know that you’re guilty of using some words over and over. Why not paint the story with a fresh colour?
  4. 4.This doesn’t necessarily pertain to writing, but it’s something I like doing. Find out just one quirky fact about a culture other than your own. Even better, if that fact can be interwoven into the bodice of one of your stories and tied up within the plot, it’s something you’ll keep. Today, for example, I learned that some cultures cook food for their dead, and leave the food at the deceased’s gravesite. They place significance on the afterlife, and respect their ancestors even decades after the passing.

I just thought I might write these things down, as observations. As things-to-do. Notes to myself. If you (out there in the great beyond) get something out of it, that’s wonderful too.

>> »

pavorst:

It is so small that you hardly notice it. It begins as a fleck of dust at the corner of your eyes, the sand that you rub when you wake from a night of dreams. It falls by your bedside and lands in the air, swirling around you. It pulls at your skin and wrings through your hair but you think it might just be an itch. You scratch it and leave some skin exposed. It dives. It buries itself layer on layer, underneath bone and muscle and blood. It corkscrews its way through your skull, jumps nodes and rides down your spinal tracts until it reaches the plexus of nerves that entangle your heart. It tugs. The nerves clench. Your heart begins to beat faster. Yet you are unaware. Here you sit, eating your bananas on toast and reading the daily paper. Your heart beats itself against your ribcage, and suddenly your vision falters. Everything starts to spin and thunder. You begin to notice now, don’t you? The invader. The other. Your sight begins to fade and the light around the room starts to move and twist. You can feel it in every inch of you now, and it makes your hands shiver. You are about to die, right there at your breakfast table. You’ve only half finished your cup of tea. The news is playing but the voices are dull. You see the red flash of a woman’s lips. It’s so quick that you can’t even think a last thought. In seconds, you slip away. Even your voice has been pried from its home in your throat. It takes you, holds you in its cold fingers, even before you are barely conscious of it.

jumped in front of the camera while he was posing. ha!

jumped in front of the camera while he was posing. ha!