Tuesday, September 16, 2014
and uh yeah every student at the end of their presentation (via sassykardashian)
amajor7:

works 30% of the time

amajor7:

works 30% of the time

hkirkh:

godotal:

broken body

"I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms. At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep."

hkirkh:

godotal:

broken body

"I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms. At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep."

I’m an adult, but not like a real adult anyone between the ages of 18 and 25 (via prettyboystyles)

Marla’s philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn’t.
Marla’s philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn’t.

(Source: movieshift)


—  quentin tarantino as quentin tarantino in a quentin tarantino movie

—  quentin tarantino as quentin tarantino in a quentin tarantino movie

(Source: basterdofbolton)

Saturday, September 13, 2014

slayboybunny:

ya hes cute…….but is he conscientious of the social inequalities and corruption in hierarchies of power that plague this world

Friday, September 12, 2014

fluidity of pale {ink the ocean with me}

under elusive pink skies, sailors pull straws
in mimicry of the moon’s mourning tide.

            {distant yowls ache as scent nostalgia;
             sounds of salted sea and golden rose hips.
             here, where the waters glean technicolor,
             we cradle infancy in our lungs & give birth.}


we chose to choose the other; to pick violets
from each other’s teeth where we learned to swim.

           {if we drown the child, may our bodies act as buoys;
           resurface and draw together from blue abyss.
           otherwise, let anemones rise out of decay
           while urchins whisper of meaning & loss.}

all that is considered lives in poetry; exists through ocean.
when the riptide pulls us under, we’ll dance in aquatic grandeur.

           {our limbs wrought as silk ribbonry; 
           frayed until pastels mull into grey.
           here,  where eloquence is often ugly, 
           we wrap loose ends unto each & waltz.}

Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Friday, August 29, 2014
This is a real moment in my life. This is July 30th at around 3am. This is what you look like when the person you want to grow old with has had way too much to drink on his birthday…but it really isn’t any different from the rest of the week. This is before you are supppsed to work at 9:30am but have to call off because you’re sitting in a Walmart parking lot in the rain. This is after he tells you to fuck off and get out of your home and your life you built together. This is after he brings his shitty friend to the house so that he can berate you with condescending bullshit, even when he knows he should have left as soon as he walked in the door. When you slam the bedroom door so hard that it crushes your lover’s hand when he tries to force you to keep it open. This is what your face looks like after accidental bloodshed of the one you never wanted to hurt. This is after you slap his face to remind him that you mean it when you warn them to back off. This is when you realize your parents’ house is a half hour away and you have no gas or money. When you look like this, you’ve lost something and you don’t want to continue yearning for it. This is mourning at the pinnacle moment of mourning.

This is a real moment in my life. This is July 30th at around 3am. This is what you look like when the person you want to grow old with has had way too much to drink on his birthday…but it really isn’t any different from the rest of the week. This is before you are supppsed to work at 9:30am but have to call off because you’re sitting in a Walmart parking lot in the rain. This is after he tells you to fuck off and get out of your home and your life you built together. This is after he brings his shitty friend to the house so that he can berate you with condescending bullshit, even when he knows he should have left as soon as he walked in the door. When you slam the bedroom door so hard that it crushes your lover’s hand when he tries to force you to keep it open. This is what your face looks like after accidental bloodshed of the one you never wanted to hurt. This is after you slap his face to remind him that you mean it when you warn them to back off. This is when you realize your parents’ house is a half hour away and you have no gas or money. When you look like this, you’ve lost something and you don’t want to continue yearning for it. This is mourning at the pinnacle moment of mourning.