Greetings, friends. So long.
Install Theme
guess who’s been up for the past 28 hours !

guess who’s been up for the past 28 hours !

comparing socrates’ idea of love to love in romantic comedies before diving into some neo-platonism.

I’m proud that this sort of procrastination hasn’t surfaced until now.

cigarette break.

euo:

“Why are you so nice to me?”
"You being serious now? Well, it’s easy. It’s because you are the weirdest, most beautiful person that I’ve ever met in my whole entire life."
Short Term 12 (2013) dir. Destin Daniel Cretton

euo:

Why are you so nice to me?”

"You being serious now? Well, it’s easy. It’s because you are the weirdest, most beautiful person that I’ve ever met in my whole entire life."

Short Term 12 (2013) dir. Destin Daniel Cretton

(via rivqal)

pinmeupagainstthesky:

These, for me, are the two most depressing paintings in western history. They were painted by post-impressionist Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec, a man who, due to inbreeding, was born with a genetic disorder that prevented his legs from growing after they were broken. After being so thoroughly mocked for is appearance, he became an alcoholic, which is what eventually caused his institutionalization and death. His only known romantic relations were with prostitutes.

And then he paints something like this which is so beautiful and tender and sentimental. It seems like the couple in bed really loves each other—cares about each other. Wakes up happy to look at each other. And I see that love and passion and I wonder how lonely he must have been. I wonder how he could paint something like this without it breaking his heart. 

Maybe they say artists should create what they know, not because its unbelievable when they extend themselves beyond their experiences, but because when they pull it off with such elegance, it’s so damn unbearable to look at. I hate thinking of Lautrec, wondering about the lovers he created and knowing it was beyond his experience. Creating something that he knows is beautiful and knows he’ll never really understand. 

(via goodthymesrkillingme)

20aliens:

Sleeping Woman, 1899by Félix Vallotton

20aliens:

Sleeping Woman, 1899
by Félix Vallotton

(via fuckrelatives)

(some aphorisms to supplement an autobiographical project for a class I’m taking this semester on Nietzsche)

             I. When you feel the blood rushing to your face,

               breathe knowing that it comes from a good place

               and that your heart beats as a constant reminder

               that you are not an object.

            II. When love starts to bloom let your guard down,

                put your phone down, put your foot down;

               don’t save all the dead flowers, but do plant new seeds.

            III. When you start finding needles

                in your best friend’s haystack and

                they’re losing just as much money as they are weight-

                retrace the track marks and call for help.

           IV. When you wait until a funeral to eulogize someone

                you’ve taken your connection for granted;

               don’t delay letting the people you love know.

            V. When you stop writing out of fear

                that what’s reflected in the ink is permanent,

                let it dry and go to the next page

                where only impressions from the words you wrote strongest survive. 

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.

And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness.

— CS Lewis: Grief Observed  (via dionnemcfx)

excdus:

Spencer Tunick
Düsseldorf 4 (Museum Kunst Palast) 2006

excdus:

Spencer Tunick

Düsseldorf 4 (Museum Kunst Palast) 2006

(via excdus)

(Source: solarsisterss, via 20aliens)


Early in the mornin’Early in the mornin’I’m callin’ you toI’m callin’ you toPlease come homeYes, I could make it without youIf I just did not feel so all alone

Early in the mornin’
Early in the mornin’
I’m callin’ you to
I’m callin’ you to
Please come home
Yes, I could make it without you
If I just did not feel so all alone

(Source: osatironiilista, via threehundredandfiftybones)

Either reading books or music. Human interaction is as overrated as contradictions.

(Source: goldvermin, via wild-nirvana)

Bob Dylan

—Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

rocknrollgroupie:

nectarblood:

teethpaste:

Bob Dylan - Don’t Think Twice It’s Alright

(via dylanordie-babe)

The Shirelles

—Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow

harvecito:

The Shirelles - Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

(via drowsyhoe)

(Source: hellogiggles)