cadenced:

Danny Macaskill: The Ridge

The Ridge is the brand new film from Danny Macaskill… For the first time in one of his films Danny climbs aboard a mountain bike and returns to his native home of the Isle of Skye in Scotland to take on a death-defying ride along the notorious Cuillin Ridgeline.

Thanks to the Headset Press for the heads up.

There's a Man in the Woods from Jacob Streilein on Vimeo.

jacobstreilein:

Here’s my 4th year Calarts film! 

kingtrinbago:

The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread

Male Celebrities for Emma Watson’s #HeForShe Campaign

(Source: potterswheeezy)

cadenced:

Bradley Wiggins put an astonishing run in the Men’s time trial at the World Championships in Ponferrada, Spain to take first place. The title adds another achievement to one of the most varied palmares in cycling which includes Tour de France winner, World Champion in individual pursuit (x3), team pursuit (x2), Olympic Games gold medalist in individual pursuit (x2), team pursuit and individual time trial along with many others victories. The photograph comes from Wei Yuet Wong’s coverage of the event.

teamdreambicyclingteam:

The Place: Sequoia National Forrest 

Fun times with friends for Acre Supply & Mission Workshop.

gravi-teamfalls:

Scary-Oke backgrounds by Jeffrey Thompson (top) and Paul Tsui (rest). Art Direction by Ian Worrel

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, 1963 (via frangelito)