I only smoke American Spirits.     1     2     3
realist/idealist

August 30th     5:29 pm

jean-luc-gohard:

The most dangerous thing society teaches boys and men, especially white boys and men, is that their emotions are objective logic and reason and that anyone who disagrees is being irrational.

August 27th     7:50 pm

Love by Mica Levi

August 27th     7:44 pm

August 26th     5:10 pm

August 26th     4:47 pm

Latch (Daniela Andrade cover) by Disclosure

August 26th     4:23 pm

August 24th     11:42 pm

August 24th     11:45 am

“ So plant your own gardens and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. ”

— Jorge Luis Borges (via maxkirin)

August 21st     5:14 pm

August 21st     5:08 pm

August 21st     5:07 pm

August 11th     8:30 pm

“ Thank you for gracing my life with your lovely presence, for adding the sweet measure of your soul to my existence. Thank you for every kindness. Thank you for being someone I was always proud to be with. For your guts, for your sweetness. For how you always looked, for how I always wanted to touch you. God, you were my life. I apologize for everytime I ever failed you. ”

What Dreams May Come (1998)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via commovente)

August 8th     2:20 pm

August 8th     2:18 pm

“ For us, eating and being eaten belong to the terrible secret of love. We love only the person we can eat. The person we hate we ‘can’t swallow.’ That one makes us vomit. Even our friends are inedible. If we were asked to dig into our friend’s flesh we would be disgusted. The person we love we dream only of eating. That is, we slide down that razor’s edge of ambivalence. The story of torment itself is a very beautiful one. Because loving is wanting and being able to eat up and yet to stop at the boundary. And there, at the tiniest beat between springing and stopping, in rushes fear. The spring is already in mid-air. The heart stops. The heart takes off again. Everything in love is oriented towards this absorption. At the same time real love is a don’t-touch, yet still an almost-touching. Tact itself: a phantom touching. Eat me up, my love, or else I’m going to eat you up. Fear of eating, fear of the edible, fear on the part of the one of them who feels loved, desired, who wants to be loved, desired, who desires to be desired, who knows there is no greater proof of love than the other’s appetite, who is dying to be eaten up, who says or doesn’t say, but who signifies: I beg you, eat me up. Want me down to the marrow. And yet manage it so as to keep me alive. But I often turn about or compromise, because I know that you won’t eat me up, in the end, and I urge you: bite me. Sign my death with your teeth. ”

— Helene Cixous, “The Love of the Wolf” (via cressus)

(Source: fleurishes, via cressus)

s.t.