beardsmelting:

every time i see this i laugh so hard i’m in physical pain

beauxbatonsacademy:

sometimes i really want to explore abandoned places but then i remember that i sprint out of rooms after i turn the lights off

"A girl and her bed on Sundays are an endless love affair."

note to self  (via coldflowers)

eyesarethewindowstothesoul:

younggiftedblaq:

mydamnchannel:

DO IT FOR THE VINE ELMO!

I died a little this was so cute.

staaawwwp eht!

pipensanait:

A Single Thread Wrapped Around Thousands of Nails by Kumi Yamashita

Kumi Yamashita , whose mind-blowing shadow artworks have been featured before, uses a single, unbroken thread wrapped around thousands of nails to create stunning portraits of women and men.

In the ongoing series entitled Constellation (a nod to the Greek tradition of tracing mythical figures in the sky), the Japanese artist (living and working in New York) uses three simple materials to produce these otherworldly works of art.

"Why do you weep? Did you think I was immortal?"

Louis XIV (last words)

pastapunk:

So I just found out that to be an astronaut you can’t be under 5’2” and this is BULLSHIT I never wanted to be an astronaut until I found out I couldn’t and now I feel like a dream has been crushed fuck you NASA

"[after a half-hearted suicide attempt at age 13]

When Daddy comes in, he carries you to bed. Is there anything you feel like you could eat, Pokey? Anything at all?

All you can imagine putting in your mouth is a cold plum, one with really tight skin on the outside but gum-shocking sweetness inside. And he and your mother discuss where he might find some this late in the season. Mother says hell I don’t know. Further north, I’d guess.

The next morning, you wake up in your bed and sit up. Mother says, Pete, I think she’s up. He hollers in, You ready for breakfast, Pokey. Then he comes in grinning, still in his work clothes from the night before. He’s holding a farm bushel. The plums he empties onto the bed river toward you through folds in the quilt. If you stacked them up, they’d fill the deepest bin at the Piggly Wiggly.

Damned if I didn’t get the urge to drive to Arkansas last night, he says.

Your mother stands behind him saying he’s pure USDA crazy.

Fort Smith, Arkansas. Found a roadside stand out there with a feller selling plums. And I says, Buddy, I got a little girl sick back in Texas. She’s got a hanker for plums and ain’t nothing else gonna do.

It’s when you sink your teeth into the plum that you make a promise. The skin is still warm from riding in the sun in Daddy’s truck, and the nectar runs down your chin.

And you snap out of it. Or are snapped out of it. Never again will you lay a hand against yourself, not so long as there are plums to eat and somebody-anybody-who gives enough of a damn to haul them to you. So long as you bear the least nibblet of love for any other creature in this dark world, though in love portions are never stingy. There are no smidgens or pinches, only rolling abundance. That’s how you acquire the resolution for survival that the coming years are about to demand. You don’t earn it. It’s given."

Mary Karr, “Cherry” (via lifeinpoetry)

milwaukier-than-thou:

photos like this make me want to go back through all the photos i’ve liked and unlike them and then just like this one.

anothergayshark:

I’ve never watched an episode of Game of Thrones in my life and even I know that you don’t fuck with the blonde dragon lady.

zustin:

me @ the movies

joeeatspeople:

yesidolikecoatsbigtime:

Types of people who romanticize small town life:

  1. People who didn’t grow up in small towns

#THE LOCALS AREN’T QUIRKY#THEY’RE RACIST