I forgot how much I hate fucking tights.
rachfuckknows:Whataaacha…guuunnaaaa…ddoooo?
Until that time, I had understood death as something entirely separate from and independent of life. The hand of death is bound to take us, I had felt, but until the day it reaches out for us, it leaves us alone. This had seemed to me the simple, logical truth. Life is here, death is over there. I am here, not over there… however, I lost the ability to see death (and life) in such simple terms. Death was not the opposite of life. It was already here, within my being, it had always been here, and no struggle would permit me to forget that.
– Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
Nikola Tamindzic, Untitled #256 (Paige)
From my Scapes series. Originally published in “Fear and Self-Loathing in Las Vegas: retracing Hunter S. Thompson’s famous steps, 40 years later” by Zach Baron.
It would be inappropiate, undignified, at 38, to conduct friendships or love affairs with the ardour or intensity of a 22 year old. Falling in love like that? Writing poetry? Crying at pop songs? Dragging people into photobooths? Taking a whole day to make a compilation tape? Asking people if they wanted to share your bed, just for company? If you quoted Bob Dylan or TS Eliot or, god forbid, Brecht at someone these days they would smile politely and step quietly backwards, and who would blame them? Ridiculous, at 38, to expect a song or book or film to change your life.
– David Nicholls, One Day (via pavorst)
tayl0rgreen:Portugal, I really need to travel.
There is a huge amount of freedom that comes to you when you take nothing personally.
– Don Miguel Ruiz (via augmariej)
teheheeehee.
