microbrien: It would be nice if I wrote in such a way that seemed mysterious or at least interesting to look at. I’m not asking for my letters and punctuation to be beautiful, just not so functional and inconsistent.
I am so very unhappy.
There’s a train that passes through here at eleven o’clock at night. It whistles into the empty stillness, but the only ones around to hear it are those behind the occasional lighted windows, eyes that pierce the darkness. They can’t lie back and settle down to rest like the other houses on the block. They know the train as the rattling of their China cabinet, the one sound that reverberates...
girlbrokendown: She found her flesh and blood amid sirens with flashing lights reflecting in pools down on the ground a mother crying out watching the streets claim her first born as she held him close for the very last time his body limp, heavy the weight of bullets fired under the skin of yet another boy desperately trying to act like a man.
When you're filling out an application on a...
emmacherry: “And the moon’s a silver slipper It’s pouring champagne stars.” Tom Waits
Create yourself as a Disney Princess →
endlesslyunamusing: Why was this so fun?
Her eyes were the color of faraway love.– Pablo Neruda, The Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks (via seabois)
clintirwin: The Moon had been staring at its reflection in the oceans of Earth for near all of her life, and most times she felt like the friend who made the pretty girl look better by comparison. But there was no comparison. There were spots on the top of the Moon, under its chin and behind its ashen, pockmarked face, which had known nothing of the Sun almost since it was born. The lustrous...
I find it funny how my parents are making me pay for absolutely every little thing now to “teach me a lesson” or some shit about me almost being an adult, and perhaps not thinking about how it might be nice for them to pay for a dinner now and then since they are contributing exactly $0 towards college and I’m going to be the one taking out these loans and ending up with a nice...
First of all I do not consider vegans real. Second, if you don’t like cats...– Reason #186020 why my guy is better than yours.
J. California Cooper makes me feel alright about...
sarcomere: Oh, to kiss you. What a crashing euphoria it would be.
clintirwin: I really love stuff like this. jayarrarr: I wanna give you a tour of my city. Take my hand. We’ll start at the river. You’ll ask about that sculpture. “What’s that? What does it mean?” I’ll confess nobody knows. “It’s nice looking and it’s there. That’s the river. It splits East Nashville from the rest of Nashville. Everything on that side of the river is East Nasty. Everything...
clintirwin: There is something scary about the idea that you can plunk down $500 for an ancient Greek vase at an antiquities shop. You take that shit home, you put it on a shelf and marvel at it. It survived the Empire of Alexander, the Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Ottoman Empire, the British Empire, Second World War… And then along comes your fucking cat…
Live your life and forget your age.– Jean Paul (via brainyquote)
She is the colors of imagination and lust, her paint never dries.– A Quiet Joy (via aquietjoy)
How to Get Your Writing Featured on Tumblr!!!
clintirwin: Applause applause applause…. And now, (drumroll and fanfare) presenting, the fantastically talented Tummmmmmmm-blero the Magnificent! Trumpets, trumpets and there is the man of the hour with a top hat and long black mustachios. He takes the stage juggling iPhones with the (shitty) tumblr app opened. (It’s just for show.) Tumblero tosses them into the audience and pulls a sloth out...
25 Realizations Writers Need To Have →
We all suffer alone in the real world. True empathy’s impossible. But if a piece...– David Foster Wallace (via pavorst)
My sleep schedule is so fucked.
Lately I’ve been going to bed when the birds start to sing.
He’s enough to suck the poetry right out of me, moving through me like a shockwave so every bit of everything is compressed into a glorious moment and then a sharp release and I am breathless, speechless, floating in the aftermath.
I believed that I wanted to be a poet, but deep down I just wanted to be a poem.– Jaime Gil de Bieda (via deathlehem)
I prefer secondhand things. I like things that have been loved and touched and lived in. I like that they come with silent stories, ghosts and shadows of their owners’ pasts. We never get to see the lives of strangers hidden behind red brick walls and unforgiving front doors that stare us down as we pass, but sometimes they let a piece of themselves slip out, a jewelry box or an old book or a...
Also, why did UGA put me in the freshmen hall with...
I DIDN’T PICK IT FOR A REASON. WHO WANTS TO LIVE WITH 1000 OTHER DUMBASSES? WHY DO YOU HATE ME ALREADY, UGA?
My university housing contract specifies that we...