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What If?
railroadsoftware:

this is how I feel all the time. surrounded by fake ass people.

railroadsoftware:

this is how I feel all the time. surrounded by fake ass people.

How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?
Don DeLillo, White Noise  (via wiltedbones)
Over the hills and far away

There’s a boy that appears perfect. He’s blonde and blue-eyed and fit and in ROTC and he’s kind and smart and best of all…his favorite bands are exactly the same as mine (aka zeppelin, fleetwood mac, pink Floyd, etc) and I want to know him so terribly. This weekend may be my chance. I just have to have the courage to make real moves.

thekintyrelass:

Hiroshima, Japan in 1971.

thekintyrelass:

Hiroshima, Japan in 1971.

straightboymamoru:

if a song was in shrek theres no way to un-associate it with shrek its forever going to be a shrek song

timelady-of-221b:

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

#THERE’S NOTHING TO DO
#EVERYONE’S ON DRUGS

theonlymagicleftisart:

Digital Illustrations by Artem Rhad Cheboha

Our Quarterly boxes are now $50 $30. The next box will include a hardcover photobook of Brandon C. Long's Polaroid photography and one lucky subscriber will receive a Polaroid camera and a pack of Impossible film: quarterly.co/art 

humansofnewyork:

"A few days before she died, my mom called us all together and told us that she’d had a dream. She said that she dreamed she had died, and that she met my dad in heaven. She begged my dad to let her stay with him, but he told her: ‘You have to go back. Or there will be nobody to raise our kids.’ Three days later she got a very bad ache in her stomach, and we rushed her to the hospital. She lived for about a week, but she was unconscious the entire time. It was Christmas time, so on Christmas Eve I went and sat by her bed. At one point she sat up, opened her eyes, and looked right at me. I said: ‘Mom! Mom! Mom!’ But she laid back down, closed her eyes, and never opened them again.”(Jinja, Uganda)

humansofnewyork:

"A few days before she died, my mom called us all together and told us that she’d had a dream. She said that she dreamed she had died, and that she met my dad in heaven. She begged my dad to let her stay with him, but he told her: ‘You have to go back. Or there will be nobody to raise our kids.’ Three days later she got a very bad ache in her stomach, and we rushed her to the hospital. She lived for about a week, but she was unconscious the entire time. It was Christmas time, so on Christmas Eve I went and sat by her bed. At one point she sat up, opened her eyes, and looked right at me. I said: ‘Mom! Mom! Mom!’ But she laid back down, closed her eyes, and never opened them again.”

(Jinja, Uganda)

We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.
Anaïs Nin (via feellng)