"The love I've known is the love of
two people staring
not at each other, but in the same direction."
Frank Bidart
For when I'm wrong.
NASA

roma★

Game Changer & Make Some Noise
Doug Jones
No title available
sheepfilms
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

shark vs the universe

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Cosimo Galluzzi
🪼
art blog(derogatory)
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Cosmic Funnies

pixel skylines
The Bright Sessions
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Keni
Show & Tell
seen from United States
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@hurricanesarekisses
"The love I've known is the love of
two people staring
not at each other, but in the same direction."
Frank Bidart
For when I'm wrong.
“Irresponsibility, Maria’s never been irresponsible. When she was little, she was responsible for protecting everybody else from her own shit around her gender - responsible for making sure her parents didn’t have to have a weird kid. Of course, then they had a weird, sad kid anyway, right? Whatever. That’s when responsibility at the expense of self became a habit: she did not care about school, but she knew her parents would be sad if she didn’t go to college, since certain things are expected from you when you do well on standardised tests, so she scraped by and paid attention. Then, with drugs, it’s like, she took them all, but always in such moderation that it wasn’t really dangerous. Even when she was throwing up or incoherent, it was in a controlled situation. She never went to jail, never had the police bring her home, never got caught breaking curfew or went to the hospital or anything. And then she came to New York, paid her rent, had a job, kept her head down, had relationships with people where making the relationship run smoothly was more important than being present in it. Which did not work. It’s clear that being responsible has not been a positive force in her life. It has been fucking everything up.
Imogen Binnie, Nevada
This book is giving me a lot of feelings right now.
(via lifeonthisside)
Yeah. Feels. Loads of them.
El Paso, Texas, 1972.
[Credit : Danny Lyon]
Lolita, anyone?
I heard some guy say once that we start to get the most out of life when we begin to look at ourselves as more of a supporting role rather than the main character. I think he’s on to something.
the millennial problem:
gyzym:
two millennials are barreling towards adulthood at 95 miles per hour. one of them has been coated with the most extravagant paint money can buy, but their steering apparatus is locked up until that coat’s paid off; the other’s breaks have been ripped out mid-trip, the thief yelling, “what, did you think you were entitled to these?” over their shoulder. half the tracks have been torn away to build second, third, and fifth garages for trains that are no longer running. solve for x.
tell me again how the song goes — i’m so inadequate i might forget. if we’re not informed enough then we’re apathetic morons, but if we’re too informed we’re oversensitive reactionaries; if we think we deserve more then we’re narcissistic cutthroats, but if we’re happy where we are then we’re passionless layabouts. if we’re making money then we’re materialistic automatons who only care about stuff and don’t value the important things in life, but if we’re broke then we’re disgusting, spoiled children who expect everything in life to be a handout. if we spend too much time with technology then we’re antisocial, soulless zombies who spell the end for human interaction as we know it, but if we spend too much time together we’re a dangerous, unstable element who should get real jobs already. we’re a disgrace; we’re a embarrassment; we’re a mistake; we’re a disappointment; we’re not what you wanted, however you slice it, and all of it’s our fault, right? right? oh, god, am i getting the melody wrong?
here’s what i propose, everyone who wants to open their twenty-four-hour news cycles or their pork-barrel mouths, who wants to use their filthy fucking hands to tear this generation a new one: you try it. you come up with a picture of the generation you seem to want: one that’s neither apathetic nor engaged, one that’s neither ambitious nor content, one that’s neither rich nor poor, one that’s neither technologically connected nor interpersonally involved. don’t forget to factor in the variables — the years of economic instability; the globalization of everything from communication to art; the hugely stratified individual experiences we’ve had based on things like race, sexuality, gender, and socioeconomics, on things that come with whole histories of systemic bullshit; the overwhelming burden of student debt that so many of us face; the fact that hindsight is 20/20. you write the formula for the millennial that will shut you the fuck up about all the things we should be and aren’t, about all the ways we’ve failed you, and then you bring it to me. i promise you, i will try it. anything for a little peace and quiet, right? anything to stop hearing it everywhere i go: that voice saying that, at twenty-three, i might already have flunked out of life.
(both millennials crash, spectacularly and yelling for help, into the station that never built a platform for them to pull into. onlookers stand by and shake their heads, wondering about the deplorable state of trains today. that’s what happens when nobody does the fucking math.)
Yeah, you fucking do it, cause it's your own fucking fault in the first place, previous generation.
He could see it all so clearly now. That was the curse of retrospect, he thought. The realization that all the signs were there, only you didn’t put them together.
She was not a happy person. There was a cold vein of sadness running through her centre like a long sliver of ice and for a long time he thought that he could make her happy. His love would make her happy. But love is not a cure. Love is not medicine.
And love is not everything.
(Alexzandria Jade)
Hell is just the place you go to when you hate yourself.
Spring is here, time to air out your pubes
Ms. Fink, I have a serious case of internet crush on you.
"There is more to you than that." "I know that! I know! But I'm not here to save you. I'm the main character of my life!" -Daydream Nation
I feel like an extra in everyone's lives and even when I manage to claw my way out of the background, I still can't get further than secondary character: daughter, girlfriend, lover, source of inspiration, et fucking cetera.
Ritual
Red. Blue black, then yellow. All of a sudden, gone again.
I press against it, push fingers in appropriate places. Make it last.
I forget (to forget?) and it fades. A whisper, no longer a scream.
A light touch and it's back again. I want to moan like the cheapest whore.
And just beneath my skin, I feel wild.
Salt. In tears and sweat, alone; mixed with copper in blood and saliva, because of course you brush your teeth before we kiss.
Sea salt drying on my skin and the feverish warmth the sun leaves behind when summer's just started and the evenings are still cool.
Salty sweat stains on the car seat, because there's no air conditioning and it's one of those days in which opening the window only makes it worse.
It's one of those times when opening the window might get us arrested.
Salt in wet cheeks and silence.
It was never snow covering the earth. It was salt.
“You guys know about vampires? … You know, vampires have no reflections in a mirror? There’s this idea that monsters don’t have reflections in a mirror. And what I’ve always thought isn’t that monsters don’t have reflections in a mirror. It’s that if you want to make a human being into a monster, deny them, at the cultural level, any reflection of themselves. And growing up, I felt like a monster in some ways. I didn’t see myself reflected at all. I was like, “Yo, is something wrong with me? That the whole society seems to think that people like me don’t exist? And part of what inspired me, was this deep desire that before I died, I would make a couple of mirrors. That I would make some mirrors so that kids like me might see themselves reflected back and might not feel so monstrous for it.”
- Junot Diaz (via Tatiana Richards)
Those Yellow Mornings
I remember thinking that this is what I wanted out of life, that if I could have mornings like this for the rest of my life I would be happy. I didn’t need anything else.
It was summer and the fan hummed with the rhythm of my heart. It wouldn’t be long before things started to go to shit, but those mornings were perfect in a way I hadn’t known before or known since.
I miss the sun. And when I have it, I miss the snow.
I just can't win and there's no way to change the rules.
Don’t ever tell yourself that you can fix her. Don’t tell yourself that you can fix her on one of those nights when you take her home and you whisper in her, ‘Everything is okay, you don’t have to worry.’ Don’t say that stuff. Don’t even think it. But you will.
thehollowpartofme: Don'ts (A Response)
It's okay to just be.
Self-Help
It was (William James') works on the more mundane matters I relied on—how to make changes in your life, how to believe you can make changes in your life, how to convince yourself to get out of bed in the morning, how not to be a worthless slug.
Jessa Crispin
When someone asks what I'm doing in Newcastle, I smile and say, "Oh, I'm an Erasmus student!" That's the easy answer. The complicated one is more along the lines of, I wanted to hide, I wanted to run and never look back, I wanted to start over. My university course bored me to tears, my parents were getting divorced, my favourite band was falling apart and I just didn't know who I was anymore. I wanted to find out.
Obviously (disappointingly), it's not that easy. Most days, it feels like I never really left. I speak to my boyfriend every day. My parents still drag me into every one of their petty squabbles. I agonize over how much time I've lost being bored instead of doing things I like. I still feel like everyone around me is telling me to grow the hell up.
And I will. I promise. I just need to learn again how to get up each morning and move instead of having to spend hours staring at the ceiling convincing myself that getting out of bed is good.
On a side note, read that essay I just linked. It's long and doesn't involve half as much sex as anything I link to usually does, but it's worth it. Seriously, READ IT.
He says he's the one who howls and whistles and occasionally sings. I'm not scared, though. I know that people with a song in their hearts and a whistle on their lips and a howl in their throats are the ones I can trust to look at me and not look away.