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But how could you convince somebody to do less of what they were doing? There were flower pots lining up alongside his roof; more of a bother than anything else, but he liked to see something growing. He watered the plants but he never watered himself. There were too many bad habits of his. He liked smoking and taking the wrong highways for the wrong places and leaving the dishes soaking in the sink for too long. Want something badly enough in this life, he thought, and you just might lose it. Carry something in your pocket long enough and it’ll be somebody else’s treasure before you know it. A Wednesday night miracle, a coincidence on the walk to work, a life we never really learned how to live in. We clean up spills with money, play the music too loudly, we can’t pray anymore because it hurts our knees. We weren’t the kind of people you thought we were. The kind of people that washed the dishes, that cleaned the stovetop, people who knew how to live. Those people were far away and forgotten now. The only practical thing we do is keep all our letters in bags close to our beds, in case of fire. The curse of sentimentality - hanging down your bones like strings waiting to be snapped loose. Limbs like pipes instead of skin. Heavy like the smell of old lace inside closets, heavy like the words people say before they close the door, never come back, there are some goodbyes that sound like “forever” instead of “farewell.” But it’s impossible for somebody to do something less than what they’ve always done. It goes on and on, forever, like trees waiting to be cut down, the stagnant grief of it all, the impending doom within nature, the sureness of loss. One day the people will come armed with chainsaws. Listen: You will be excited for this. Nothing will have to rot itself away for death anymore. You scoop up your spills with money. You’re just a crack in the wall now, a stain in the ceiling and you have no idea how it got there. A pathway up to a heaven you’re not sure exists. The western man’s need to cry is greater than the bed sheet stains of the rest of the world. Here: here is the unbroken sadness of things, the tree that died on its own, the forest that has survived centuries, the heart transplant, one life trading itself for another. Here: take a drag off of a cigarette, take a hammer to the old ceiling, watch the mould growing between the cracks in the walls. We listen to the chainsaws, wonder if trees can grieve.

20 November 2013     9:54 pm     48 notes

20 November 2013     9:05 pm     201 notes

(Source: soulstratum, via lovedbyapollo)

Yet she likes complications. She wishes she could turn and say: I like people who unbalance me.

— Colum McCann, Let The Great World Spin

November 2013     9:03 pm     46 notes

With all respects to heaven, I like it here.

— Colum McCann, Let The Great World Spin

November 2013     8:55 pm     27 notes


Twenty years later, model Leilani Bishop recreates her iconic Hole “Live Through This” cover, originally shot by the very talented Ellen Von Unwerth in 1993.
H&M: Nicolas Blanchet/Folio
Courtney Love stated of the original cover that she “wanted to capture the look on a woman’s face as she’s being crowned… this sort of ecstatic, blue eyeliner running, kind of ‘I am, I am—I won! I have hemorrhoid cream under my eyes and adhesive tape on my butt, and I had to scratch and claw and fuck my way up, but I won Miss Congeniality!’”

20 November 2013     8:51 pm     8,217 notes

Twenty years later, model Leilani Bishop recreates her iconic Hole “Live Through This” cover, originally shot by the very talented Ellen Von Unwerth in 1993.

H&M: Nicolas Blanchet/Folio

Courtney Love stated of the original cover that she “wanted to capture the look on a woman’s face as she’s being crowned… this sort of ecstatic, blue eyeliner running, kind of ‘I am, I am—I won! I have hemorrhoid cream under my eyes and adhesive tape on my butt, and I had to scratch and claw and fuck my way up, but I won Miss Congeniality!’”

(Source: , via cupofconversation-deactivated20)

18 November 2013     8:56 pm     18 notes

Wild Is The Wind by Nina Simone

(via evinizinsaykodelisi-deactivated)

18 November 2013     8:20 pm     181 notes

We’re born and we die alone, I guess. So you have to take care of yourself… I’m better at understanding that I have to. I always thought I was going to pass away or whatever. I used to wish I had a lobotomy. But I don’t want to pass away any more. I want to keep [she drops her head and claps her hands twice above her in the air, smartly, like she’s sealing a spell] living.

chan marshall 

(Source: m3atsack)

November 2013     8:16 pm     57 notes

18 November 2013     8:16 pm     421,666 notes

(Source: notesonbeingalive, via princessheartwrecker)

18 November 2013     8:15 pm     31 notes

(via getofftheinternerd)

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