Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer. Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves. Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone. Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.Alan Watt (via newspringrain)
(via newspringrain)
i don’t have a right, i don’t lay claim to this emptyness, i did not know you.
you were on my list of people to meet, people to run up to on the streets and say “i’ve read your words,” or “i’ve heard you sing,” or “that thing you said in seminar today was.. wow.” we don’t do that, because it’s creepy. or because we’re yale students and therefore we have some pride. i could write like that too, i should just sit down and write more. but the truth is: you were everything i want to be at yale, in life.
rest in peace. and thank you for reopening the eyes of a sometimes blinded community to the frailty of life and the importance of living it.
A. E. I. O. U.Bjork’s five-word acceptance speech for being named Artist of the Year at last night’s Webby’s. Good Lord, Bjork. (via washingtonpoststyle)
The numbers are staggering: One-third of Americans are obese; another third are overweight. Some 26 million Americans have Type 2 diabetes. An additional 79 million more are pre-diabetic. Thanks to these figures, the children of today have a good chance of becoming the first generation of Americans to die at younger ages than their parents.
the words don’t pour about you, perhaps they do not need to
“What the ponytail?/I don’t eat snail/I steal your keys and then I check your mail”
RIP
Let me play you the song of my people
literally me
THE NATIONAL ANTHEM OF HELL
………….. OH MY GOD IS THIS REAL LIFE SERIOUSLY RIGHT NOW WHAT
THIS INSTRUMENT OF TORTURE RUINED MY ENTIRE CHILDHOOD
MOTHA FUCKIN HOT CROSS BITCH TIT HORSE ANAL BUNS
ONE A PENNY
TWO A PENNY
AND THAT’S HOW YOU CROSS THE RIVER STYX, MOTHA FUCKA
ENJOY YOUR STAY IN HELL
THE RINGTONE OF EVIL BAND DIRECTORS
OMG OMG OMG OMG
(via evanescentcontender)
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