i'd make a deal with god. @the-suburban-blues - Tumblr Blog

baratheonpilled

"All men are fools, and all men are knights." ― George R.R. Martin, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

achillesinhighheels

So we pivot. And we find a way. And we keep going.

sapphicrs

chessys

how many followers do u have?

its just me n u bud

thepiperatthegatesofdawn1967

at least the colour green exists

sweatermuppet

wait are you gay or bi

im attracted to men & i do whatever women ask of me

What’s your horoscope?

i’m a cancer my friend:)

When i drink coffee i can decipher cocteau twins lyrics

the-trans-dragon

A girl’s natural habitat is in a bed with many blankets and pillows and it’s inhumane to remove her from her natural habitat

perfectquote

I learned the hard way that I cannot always count on others to respect my feelings - even if I respect theirs. Being a good person doesn’t guarantee that others will be good people. You only have control over yourself and how you choose to be as a person. As for others, you can only choose to accept them or walk away.

Unknown (via perfectquote)

metamorphesque

What the Living Do, Marie Howe

cloudbeam

Written for her brother, John Howe, who died of complications of AIDS

itsgonnabeanofrommedawg

full poem:

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of. It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through

the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off. For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it. Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass, say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless: I am living. I remember you.

melancholiads

sleeping in someone else’s bed

funnytwittertweets

volchitsa-of-winterfell

especially re: eating up savings:

"The less you eat, drink and read books; the less you go to the theatre, the dance hall, the public-house; the less you think, love, theorize, paint, sing, fence, etc., the more you save—the greater becomes your treasure which neither moths nor dust will devour—your capital. The less you are, the more you have; the less you express your own life, the greater is your alienated life—the greater is the store of your estranged being.

Karl Marx, Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844