#gulfstart

[tbhrhett-blog]

His fingers grazed along the spines of the vast - and grossly extensive - record collection before him. The south wall was lined with shelves, nearly stocked to the brim with records, their covers a trying story of various shades of decay - some cracked and splintering with age and abuse, others stiff and still stained with the unmistakable ‘just manufactured’ scent. He lingered over a well loved Pink Floyd album, jade green eyes sweeping across the pyramid image splashed across the cover, almost as if he had fallen victim to a trance. He hummed in appreciation, the sound vibrating deep within the confines of his chest cavity. Spinning the record between his calloused fingertips, he carefully slid the black disk from it’s casing; his fingers crying out in blissful rejoice at the familiar weight. “Dark Side of the Moon.” He murmured, seemingly completely lost to the world around him.

[mallorytheory-blog]

“i was recently reading this book, and it spoke all about the study of hallucinatory 'voices' seeming to be shaped by local culture. in the united states, the voices are known to be harsh and threatening while those heard by schizophrenics in places like africa and india tend to be more benign and playful. what do you think this says about us? i can’t imagine it says anything particularly good, and it makes me wonder just how chaotic our culture as a country is compared to others.”

[wclfes]

░ ♢ * — (1) TEXT

Georgia: After some deliberation, I'm thinking I may move out of the house for the rest of the summer and live back at my place. The one I've shown y'all pictures of! One less person in the house could not hurt. Thoughts?

[esmeebotros-blog]

Dim lighting. Thin smoke. It wafts near the flood of the lights, clinging like fireflies, both intoxicated and summoned by the fluorescent. As if Prometheus stole fire from the Gods to give humanity this poor quality to a scene – to have his entrails devoured day in and day out for these flickering lights. This tribute did not serve his sacrifice well… but it does not matter to Esmée Botros. For she intends to choke, lodge a fat piece of steak dripping in blood down in her windpipe. So that a bystander might feel heroic. A modern day Hercules, saving innocents’ lives in restaurants as smoked filled as the streets of Paris. Would the girl with piercings on every square inch of her body aid in her rescue? Her intent of seeming weak in order to gain power, gain favor. Or, perhaps, the man dressed in all black, head to toe? With purposes, she slices off a piece of steak too large for her to swallow – there. She cannot breathe. Pipes clogged with animal fat. She gulps down some wine, a faux attempt to unlodge the food from her throat. And the finale – she flings her chair backwards, clattering to the floor, her hands moving to cover her throat – the universal choking symbol. The room spins. Swimming circles in her head. She can only hold her breath for two minutes before she suffers the consequences of her ploy.

[mallorytheory-blog]

░ ♥ snapchat // all. ░

mallory: in honor of me still wanting a kitten mallory: i have made this portrait of myself mallory: will this be convincing to any of u mallory: to allow me to (pls)) get one 4 the house???

[mallorytheory-blog]

“i’ve recently discovered that i can no longer listen to most of what’s on the radio anymore. there’s far too much bass and ‘dubstep’ going on for me to enjoy it, even though there are some that i can stand... that ed sheeran fellow and his song photograph are amazing. i’m more interested in finding an instrumental version, but i do enjoy the composition enough to listen to it as it is.”

[claralenaramirez-blog]

compelled to be a homebody as of late, clara was burrowed into the living room couch, inconspicuously examining a list of recommendations from her doctor that she’d jotted down during her last visit. her knees were pulled tightly to her chest, as if the sweater she was wearing wasn’t enough; she often cited the antarctic air conditioning as her excuse for dressing as if it was winter, but even so, the not-so-seasonal clothing wouldn’t cover things up for her much longer.

she was often left unbothered in one particular instance: if she had earphones in, most of her roommates knowing all too well that whatever music was coursing through the wires was at full blast and blocking out the rest of the world. when the next song in her ipod’s shuffle began, she froze. she recognized the opening instantly, radio ballet beginning to play loudly. it was like a flood then, snapshots of a life she once lived that felt instant and then never there at all. she yanked her earphones out, tossing them as far away as possible. not this. not today.

[vitoed-blog]

   With camera in hand, backpack resting low behind him, Vi’s got his sunglasses and hat shielding him from the bright rays. He was ready to go hiking, embrace the nature around him. Maybe he could take photos and send them to Clara and Mama. They could see what he was doing; being productive, and growing as a human being. But there was another figure intending to go on the same path, so Vito smiled. “Are you planning to join me? Or were you going to take the same walk I was.” Both were welcomed by him.