January 2010
obama's elfffff~ don't wanna be, OBAMA'S...
(via wonderbirds)
hermione granger would have a field day with this
The sea. The sea is our mother. The home we grew too big for. The womb from which we woke. This is what the wise men say. But the wise men lie. We brought the sea with us. Because blood is salt water, and in our hearts there is a lightless ocean. Here, now, is the turning of the tide. Here, now, the blood pauses — falls in upon itself — and is renewed.
—-Lucifer Vol. 9
list of pros of moving to sydney, so i don't feel...
wonderbirds:
1. man, the thrift stores. there are so many everywhere, with random quirky things like lens-less grandpa glasses, cookie tins, mannequin hands, postcards, granny pants, broken headphones lalalala. 2. the markets. everyone’s (well, most) so friendly, and there are people performing songs they’ve written. i came across a girl who wrote a song about, “stalking your boyfriend with...
“One way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a...”
– Gustave Flaubert (via flickflickflicker) (via booklover)
It is possible to be alone even in a world of...
wonderbirds:
(via pseudopoetry)
“He was a lonely ghost uttering a truth that nobody would ever hear.”
– Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell (via expose) (via merricat) (via fairphantom) (via dreamawaymydear) (via booklover)
It is possible to be alone even in a world of...
wonderbirds:
(via pseudopoetry)
Top 50 oxymorons
thethreeofus:
annie-dog:
tamburina:
50. Act naturally 49. Found missing 48. Resident alien 47. Advanced BASIC 46. Genuine imitation 45. Airline food 44. Good grief 43. Same difference 42. Almost exactly 41. Government organization 40. Sanitary landfill 39. Alone together 38. Legally drunk 37. Silent scream 36. British fashion 35. Living dead 34. Small crowd 33. Business ethics 32. Soft rock...
Why You Should Never Marry A Poet | Heather Bell
muscovite:
Think about it - the way that credit cards, bougainvillea, vacations, dictionaries, the road on the way to work will all never be enough. The poet wishes with her deepest bones and writes that she wishes she would have killed you in the supermarket. She wonders why she ever loved you in song. She publishes book after book. Each line detailing how your hair is ugly and monstrous...
