whatever major loser
Charlotte, "trying", Florida.
expensivemonster:

وحش مُكلف

I’ll put you first, just close your eyes and dream about it
Higher than the motherfucker dreaming of you as my lover
I’ll quench your thirst, just chase the high and stop your doubting
Flying like a streamer, thinking of new ways to do each other

(Source: thenutbusters)

"They imagined the muzzle against flesh. So easy: squeeze the trigger and blow away a toe. They imagined it. They imagined the quick, sweet pain, then the evacuation to Japan, then a hospital with warm beds and cute geisha nurses.
And they dreamed of freedom birds.
At night, on guard, staring into the dark, they were carried away by jumbo jets. They felt the rush of takeoff. Gone! they yelled. And then velocity—wings and engines—a smiling stewardess—but it was more than a plane, it was a real bird, a big sleek silver bird with feathers and talons and high screeching. They were flying. The weights fell off; there was nothing to bear. They laughed and held on tight, feeling the cold slap of wind and altitude, soaring, thinking It’s over, I’m gone!—they were naked, they were light and free—it was all lightness, bright and fast and buoyant, light as light, a helium buzz in the brain, a giddy bubbling in the lungs as they were taken up over the clouds and the war, beyond duty, beyond gravity and mortification and global entanglements—Sin loi! they yelled. I’m sorry, motherfuckers, but I’m out of it, I’m goofed, I’m on a space cruise, I’m gone!—and it was a restful, unencumbered sensation, just riding the light waves, sailing that big silver freedom bird over the mountains and oceans, over America, over the farms and great sleeping cities and cemeteries and highways and the golden arches of McDonald’s, it was flight, a kind of fleeing, a kind of falling, falling higher and higher, spinning off the edge of the earth and beyond the sun and through the vast, silent vacuum where there were no burdens and where everything weighed exactly nothing—Gone! they screamed. I’m sorry but I’m gone!—and so at night, not quite dreaming, they gave themselves over to lightness, they were carried, they were purely borne."
by The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien

derrierelasalledebains:

William Burroughs.

(via burntpeaches)

(Source: angel-cine, via jeffmangos)

aqqindex:

Piero Derossi, Girogio Ceretti and Riccardo Rosso, House, Circa 1972

(Source: allthedaysordained, via xasm)

authorjordanlink:

Golestan Palace

Inglourious Basterds (2009) dir.Quentin Tarantino

(Source: alsk00, via 87daysbefore)

yumilambert:

Yumi backstage at Christian Dior Haute Couture F/W 2014
"I have a strange feeling with regard to you. As if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. And if you were to leave I’m afraid that cord of communion would snap. And I have a notion that I’d take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, you’d forget me." by Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (via ameliespoulain)

(Source: pureblyss, via girlnah)

(Source: miuroll, via jeffmangos)

gallowhill:

Adorno was wrong with his ideas about art, 2005 by Erwin Wurm
pricebullington:

Nancy Graves