painted words

[behaviornerdwithahat]

[spoonieshepard]

Honestly, that's part of the reason why functioning labels suck

[those-painted-words]

She has gone away today. The ugly husk of this withered person inside remains. Spiders crawl under my scalp. My body aches and the muscles seize as I reach for my shoes. The phone rings, I dare not answer. My body doesnt feel right. It does not hang on my bones right today. The phone rings and I let it ring. A message comes through. The person they are trying to reach is not here today.

[kileeksta]

[infiniterichesinalittleroom]

“That which interests most people leaves me without any interest at all. This includes a list of things such as: social dancing, riding roller coasters, going to zoos, picnics, movies, planetariums, watching tv, baseball games; going to funerals, weddings, parties, basketball games, auto races, poetry readings, museums, rallies, demonstrations, protests, children’s plays, adult plays … I am not interested in beaches, swimming, skiing, Christmas, New Year’s, the 4th of July, rock music, world history, space exploration, pet dogs, soccer, cathedrals and great works of Art. How can a man who is interested in almost nothing write about anything? Well, I do. I write and I write about what’s left over: a stray dog walking down the street, a wife murdering her husband, the thoughts and feelings of a rapist as he bites into a hamburger sandwich; life in the factory, life in the streets and rooms of the poor and mutilated and the insane, crap like that, I write a lot of crap like that”

— Charles Bukowski • Shakespeare Never Did This

[officialviviennui]

Ennui

Ennui means so much more than “boredom” or “boring”. It’s a word we don’t have an English equivalent to. Ennui is the soul crushing weight of existentialist pressure on your being. The painful nihilism of having seen it all and there being no thrill left. It’s a cynicism so deep that cynicism is too exciting. The detachment from all that is good and beautiful and worthwhile in the world. Ennui is not opening the fridge over and over hoping that something inside will suddenly appeal to you. Ennui is knowing that you’ve tasted everything in the fridge and won’t ever know the bliss of tasting any of it for the first time again.

[belgiandad]

From VSCO

[urqv-blog]

[kileeksta]

⁣

”𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞”⁣

⁣

⁣

⁣it’s always funny to me when i tell a dude he’s the inspiration for a piece— he protests he did not want to be part of this narrative, that he had not given permission, that i should write about something else, as if he didn’t already pour out of my pen every time i try to write. “you date any kind of artist babe, and this comes with the territory”, i tell him, “it’s up to you how you are immortalized”.

[kileeksta]

Kurt Vonnegut, BPD edition

“Everything was beautiful and everything hurt.”

[those-painted-words]

for a little while

I forgot my name

then yours too

showed up empty handed

defiling your doorbell

just a suitcase of your songs

at my dirty toes

pounding away

asking what was left

You said I could stay

for a little while

until your ears grow too heavy to hear

cause no one could carry this burden you said

not even the cathedral’s thousand copper pipes

[theotherwillis]

from Too Much and Not the Mood.

[florallpeach]

[kileeksta]

My head spins. I have yet to understand you. You have yet to make sense to me. Im not sure I will ever fully know who you are. And for the first time, I realize I don’t want to.

the sunshine state (via kileeksta)

[sskeptical]

[kileeksta]

on sunny days I go out walking/ I end up on a tree lined street/ I look up at the gaps of sunlight/ I miss you more than anything

[kileeksta]

on sunny days I go out walking/ I end up on a tree lined street/ I look up at the gaps of sunlight/ I miss you more than anything

[those-painted-words]

To-days are the the kind I hate

In-between days

Limbo in the shape of nine sunrises

before the end of one chapter

and the beginning of another

On to-days my body belongs to a pin-ball machine

rattling, bouncing, reverberating ceaselessly in the world

A constancy of destination recalls the same thoughts 

each time I repel against the familiar surfaces

You will be a memory

This time will become a memory

And I will shed this self in favor of another

But for once, I know not the next destination

after the coin has been used and this game is through

An unforeseen eventuality awaits me

and I am less brave than I imagined myself to be

I want to cling to these narrow walls

rolling endlessly between one known border, then the next

The fearless woman I want to be retreats from the surface

a battered, scratched steel ball remains

She appears unchangeable

longing only for this home

known, identifiable, familiar

Though restrictive and monotonous beatings

would be her sole fate

I want the game to stop

Long enough that I could breathe

And my wish is granted 

no money comes into the slot

I rest waiting in momentary ease

Then boil in contemptuous holding, 

Suddenly aching for one more turn

As the dance begins in another, far off machine