before blaming others, think: whats the 1 constant in all your failed relationships? its that cursed egyptian amulet why do u even have that
Don’t wanna call you in the nighttime
Don’t wanna give you all my pieces
Don’t wanna hand you all my trouble
Don’t wanna give you all my demons
You’ll have to watch me struggle
From several rooms away
But tonight I’ll need you to stay.
Kid Cudi looking like a motherfuckin’ babe at Coachella 4/13/14
male crop tops are hittin the straight men im pumped 4 this revolution
I have emotions
that are like newspapers that
I go for days at a time
trapped in the want ads.
I feel as if I am an ad
for the sale of a haunted house:
ghosts and all.
|—||Richard Brautigan, Revenge of the Lawn: Stories 1962-1970 (via sad-plath)|
Years and years ago, there was a production of The Tempest, out of doors, at an Oxford college on a lawn, which was the stage, and the lawn went back towards the lake in the grounds of the college, and the play began in natural light. But as it developed, and as it became time for Ariel to say his farewell to the world of The Tempest, the evening had started to close in and there was some artificial lighting coming on. And as Ariel uttered his last speech, he turned and he ran across the grass, and he got to the edge of the lake and he just kept running across the top of the water — the producer having thoughtfully provided a kind of walkway an inch beneath the water. And you could see and you could hear the plish, plash as he ran away from you across the top of the lake, until the gloom enveloped him and he disappeared from your view.
And as he did so, from the further shore, a firework rocket was ignited, and it went whoosh into the air, and high up there it burst into lots of sparks, and all the sparks went out, and he had gone.
When you look up the stage directions, it says, ‘Exit Ariel.’
Tom Stoppard, University of Pennsylvania, 1996 (via flameintobeing)
The persistence of Ms. Jackson
The Persistence of Memory (1931), Salvador Dali / Ms. Jackson, Outkast
From his chest
the animals come:
bison, grizzlies, eagles, wolves.
All made of light.
We are moving in the pit,
arms in the air, palms open,
wildness falling into our fingers.
Last night I was hanging out with a friend and we were getting Slurpees and some guy approached the store on his fucking horse and I just… never felt more contempt for a geographical location than in that moment.
A fucking horse.
A guy clip-clopped up to a 7-Eleven atop his goddamn steed, okay? I was so infuriated by it. I hate this town. I hate the people who live in this town. I hate livestock. I hate these backwards hillbilly fucks who canter up to storefronts on their fucking livestock.
I don’t even hate horses or the countryside~ in general, I just really hated that moment so much and I really hate this whole failed experiment of a town/city/hell gate.
I’m hilarious, Mom