Aug 30th /

habituallydestructive:

*laughs while actually getting feelings hurt*

Aug 30th /
Aug 30th /
Y. That perfect letter. The wishbone, fork in the road, empty wineglass. The question we ask over and over. Marjorie Celona (via jamstains) Aug 25th /
pixography:

Anthony Clarkson
Aug 24th /
destronomics:

The Skyler White EffectThe cognitive dissonance that happens when a female character is presented by the narrative as absolutely correct in their judgment of a male character, and yet the viewers assume she’s the bitch.
Aug 23rd /

i. Nothing ever worth splitting on - poems, heartache, meat - should be done with a blunt butter knife. You need the serrated edge.

ii. I’m learning to wake up every day and catch gold in eager palms.

iii. There are many things that wont matter when I’m dead. How many likes a status has on Facebook is one of them. Whether or not you’ll call me back is another.

iv. I must cultivate kindness. I must polish at it religiously until it gleams, until it’s filled to the brim and the excess spills over onto my lap.

v. Those people, the ones that chip away at your like a woodpecker, the ones that steal the magic in you away like it’s the only thing they know how to do - rid yourself of them.

vi. I want the kind of sex that makes me feel like I’m floating and falling at once.

vii. There is the bad, guilty love, where you feel like you’re going to regret it when it’s all said and done. This love is like picking at a scab before the wound has a chance to heal. It’s like scratching so intently at a mosquito bite it bleeds. Run from it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

viii. There are some days you have to refuse morphine just so you know you can make it on your own.

ix. God knows it’s not healthy to look back after you’ve said goodbye, but the curiosity always compels me to do so. Will you be looking back at me? Will I ever see you again?

x. Maybe we don’t want love, we just want to tell someone the messy, ugly secrets we think will make them leave and watch in awe as they stay.

x. I will always love the boy with eyes like gondolas and hands like shadow play.

jessica therese, “What I Know” (via contramonte) Aug 23rd /
It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them. I was so preposterously serious in those days… Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me… So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly. Lightly my darling… Aldous Huxley, Island (via lonehands) Aug 23rd /
Love is a fire. But whether it is going to warm your hearth or burn down your house, you can never tell.  Joan Crawford (via feellng) Aug 23rd /
pixography:

Jacques Resch
Aug 23rd /
First you hear the words
and they are like all other words:

ordinary, breathing out of lips,
moving toward you in a straight line.

Later they shatter
and rearrange themselves. They spell

something else hidden in the muscles
of the face, something the throat wanted to say.
Ruth Stone, from “The Wound” (via ontheedgeofdarkness) Aug 23rd /

oddpears:

Melbourne-based art director and photographer Phebe Schmidt is blowing our minds with her powerful, colourful, borderline creepy body of work. 

Beneath the beautiful aesthetic, Phebe’s work is a comment on society. She uses her hyper-realistic, plastic, clinical and artificial worlds to address the ingrained striving for unattainable perfection, gender, sex and consumerism. 

Having collaborated with some super impressive clients in the Australian fashion world such as Kuwaii, Per-Tim and Renee Farina, we can’t wait to see what she does next.

Follow her Tumblr, Instagram and Website

Aug 23rd /

abs3nt:

i’m literally worth thousands of dollars

in medical bills

Aug 23rd /

shutupaubrey:

team “i wore this yesterday but i’m going to a different place so it doesn’t matter”

Aug 23rd /
I think about you. But I don’t say it anymore. Marguerite Duras, from Hiroshima, Mon Amour (via nicotinewithcaffeine) Aug 23rd /


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