Wednesday, April 23, 2014

(Source: weissesrauschen)

magicaldeductions:

goddammit bill

buttonpoetry:

Aziza Barnes - “Hypnophobia”

"I am not lonely. I am not the weak calling my sickness the tyranny."

Aziza Barnes, winner of the 2012 Button Poetry Prize, and author of me aunt jemima and the nailgun. Check out the book here!

(Source: queenregency)

I want to be the queen.

(Source: royharpar)

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

The Briefest Respite

officialiwrotethisforyou:

image

If all you do is make something beautiful for someone else, even if it’s only for a moment, with a single word or small action, you have done a great service.

Because life can be ugly and frustrating and for so many, it is.

Monday, April 21, 2014
Part of getting a Sarah Lawrence education is learning to tolerate ambiguity. Ann Lauinger (via slcteacherisms)
jeannetteisabelle:

mythic-ality
LOVE YOU SOMMER

I LOVE YOU TOO, AHHHHH

jeannetteisabelle:

mythic-ality

LOVE YOU SOMMER

I LOVE YOU TOO, AHHHHH

(Source: fluffynips)

nex218:

Haruko Maeda: Heartbeat of the Death - Queen Elizabeth the first, 2013.

nex218:

Haruko Maeda: Heartbeat of the Death - Queen Elizabeth the first, 2013.

(Source: harukomaeda.blogspot.com)

When I tell my friends stories about my near death experiences this weekend

whatshouldbetchescallme:

They’re just like…

image

Sunday, April 20, 2014

(Source: graygunter)

chili-jesson:

some things we all need to remember sometimes

vintageanchorbooks:

"Bored" by Margaret Atwood "All those times I was boredout of my mind. Holding the logwhile he sawed it. Holdingthe string while he measured, boards,distances between things, or poundedstakes into the ground for rows and rowsof lettuces and beets, which I then (bored)weeded. Or sat in the backof the car, or sat still in boats,sat, sat, while at the prow, stern, wheelhe drove, steered, paddled. Itwasn’t even boredom, it was looking,looking hard and up close at the smalldetails. Myopia. The worn gunwales,the intricate twill of the seatcover. The acid crumbs of loam, the granularpink rock, its igneous veins, the sea-fansof dry moss, the blackish and then the grayingbristles on the back of his neck.Sometimes he would whistle, sometimesI would. The boring rhythm of doingthings over and over, carryingthe wood, dryingthe dishes. Such minutiae. It’s whatthe animals spend most of their time at,ferrying the sand, grain by grain, from their tunnels,shuffling the leaves in their burrows. He pointedsuch things out, and I would lookat the whorled texture of his square finger, earth underthe nail. Why do I remember it as sunnierall the time then, although it more oftenrained, and more birdsong?I could hardly wait to getthe hell out of there toanywhere else. Perhaps thoughboredom is happier. It is for dogs orgroundhogs. Now I wouldn’t be bored.Now I would know too much.Now I would know.”

vintageanchorbooks:

"Bored" by Margaret Atwood

"All those times I was bored
out of my mind. Holding the log
while he sawed it. Holding
the string while he measured, boards,
distances between things, or pounded
stakes into the ground for rows and rows
of lettuces and beets, which I then (bored)
weeded. Or sat in the back
of the car, or sat still in boats,
sat, sat, while at the prow, stern, wheel
he drove, steered, paddled. It
wasn’t even boredom, it was looking,
looking hard and up close at the small
details. Myopia. The worn gunwales,
the intricate twill of the seat
cover. The acid crumbs of loam, the granular
pink rock, its igneous veins, the sea-fans
of dry moss, the blackish and then the graying
bristles on the back of his neck.
Sometimes he would whistle, sometimes
I would. The boring rhythm of doing
things over and over, carrying
the wood, drying
the dishes. Such minutiae. It’s what
the animals spend most of their time at,
ferrying the sand, grain by grain, from their tunnels,
shuffling the leaves in their burrows. He pointed
such things out, and I would look
at the whorled texture of his square finger, earth under
the nail. Why do I remember it as sunnier
all the time then, although it more often
rained, and more birdsong?
I could hardly wait to get
the hell out of there to
anywhere else. Perhaps though
boredom is happier. It is for dogs or
groundhogs. Now I wouldn’t be bored.
Now I would know too much.
Now I would know.”

goodbye, today is already shitty, the weather is mocking me, i will be sitting on my bed feeling confused about life and anxious about my homework all day

about me

about me

(Source: channinglovesjoss)