'mbuti

gecherei

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siete strani

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scottecs:

OH NOES

Stipiturus malachurus

(Source: emuwren)

per @tanzmax

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fossa

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c4ss:

Philip K. Dick, for those who pay no attention to such things, is the writer who, without ever expressly intending it, transformed the often shabby and degraded genre of science fiction into something resembling art.

From the early 1950s through the 80s, Dick wrote several dozen extremely quirky and individualistic novels foregoing the themes of most SF in favor of his own preoccupations. These were written in large part for low-rent paperback houses like Ace and Belmont for $500 on the barrelhead, and no expectation of another dime, the concept of “royalties” not having penetrated that far down. (At least not as far as Ace, which pocketed some $40,000 belonging to Dick that had to be shaken out of them decades after the money should have been paid.)

To financial woes we can also add a disorderly personal life of the type that thrived in California and virtually nowhere else during the 50s. Dick had four — or was it five? — different wives, to all of whom he was paying alimony at one time or another. He became involved with drugs — preferring speed above all else — to the point that it damaged his vascular system. He had a weakness for losers, druggies, and the mentally ill (including one of his wives). He is one of the few who ever deliberately chose to move from bucolic, bohemian Marin County to mad, bad LA. At one point he annoyed somebody enough for his house to be broken into several times and his personal files thoroughly trashed. …

arco

(Source: 500px.com, via natures-greatest)

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