(Source: fuckyeahanarchistgraffiti, via therayway)
YOU FUCKIN TELL HER ‘YE
Still one of my most favorite television moments of all time.
this is so terrifying. like this is my worst fear ever, sinking into the darkness and being surrounded by the unknown.
idk i just love this
Idk I’m reblogging this again because I fucking love this so much
(Source: whatgoesupthengoesdown, via xx2)
I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me. — Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text (1973)
(Source: larmoyante, via xx2)
Treat Yo Self
(Source: hollowedheartsandhelpinghands, via brit-smith)
(Source: towritepoems, via therayway)
I’m stuck between wanting to be an adult, accomplishing a lot, and contributing a lot to society and lying on my floor, ignoring my responsibilities, and crying to sad songs alone in my room.
change the direction of the train if you concentrate
woah, it works
which way is it really going??
(Source: dpaf, via aminamania)
I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary a phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this - But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it. —
Vita Sackville-West, from a letter to Virginia Woolf dated 21 January 1926 (via violentwavesofemotion)
damn you, spoilt creature.
Your aunt Sharice used bleaching cream.
Your mother explained what that was by saying
It’s when you set fire to yourself
so others will compliment the light
of your burning.
-Taken from the poem Dark Black by Indigo Williams-
(Source: michaelnoire, via therayway)
Happy Birthday, Grumpy Cat!
Our friend Tardar Sauce is celebrating her very first birthday today! With a Friskies campaign and a recent visit with Anderson Cooper, we’re sure her second year will be even grumpier!
You do not honk your horn on a first date and expect the woman to hurry out to your car. You do not pretend you only want to people-watch until she agrees to buy her own ticket to the movies. You do not attempt one of those dreadful snuffling blind approaches to a kiss, the kind where the girl doesn’t know if you’re trying to kiss her or maybe just got something caught in your throat while staring at her breasts. I’ve been around a long time, and young men, if there is one thing I know, it is that the only way to kiss a girl for the first time is to look like you want to and intend to, and move in fast enough to seem eager but slow enough to give her a chance to say “So anyway …” and look up as if she’s trying to remember your name. — from Roger Ebert’s review for Shopgirl. (via stayforthecredits)