self-titled @cafexcito - Tumblr Blog

tomb-of-madeline

Happy Valentine’s day everyone!

catchymemes

dicksmasher

THE CAT LOOKS JUST LIKE HIM I’m dead

tiktoksthataregood-ish

alligatorsuit

“How sick it is of me to try so hard to measure out my heart, to cut up the feelings into careful syllables and call it art when in truth it is anything but. How pathetic, to write letters to people who don’t care, how futile to make sense of the passionate nothings of the undeserving. How unfortunate to see that even after all the ceaseless shouting into the void, I am still alone. How tragic it is to use such important words for tiny feelings, and to not have any left when the massive, suffocating ones come out to play. How lonely, to unlock the truth of the universe and not have the language to speak it with. How cruel, to have wasted all my poetry on all the wrong scars, and to now watch the sky and the ocean come together, to feel everything, and find no words.”

— Roe Faura, “Even This Doesn’t Sound Right” (via wnq-writers)

freelance-philosopher

“If there were a break between thought and thought, then thought would be always new, but because there is no break, no space, all thought is old. You may not be conscious of the continuity of a thought; you may pick it up a week later after dropping it, but it has been working within the old boundaries. So the whole of consciousness, both the conscious and the unconscious, is within the limited, narrow space of tradition, culture, custom and remembrance.”

— Jiddu Krishnamurti, The Only Revolution