Just that type where you feel like having a good cry. Not in the desperate sense, or a necessarily awful sense. Just that kind of night where you at last feel the weight of everything that’s been slowly building up. Shoulder, mind, and heart-weary.
Yes, one of those days.
"You,” he said, “are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain." Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls (via larmoyante)
(via truetothebone)
(Source: whereisthecoool, via penseesduchoeur)
Massive Kurt Vile kick.
One of my favorite scenes, always and always.
Apples in Stereo
Beautiful Machine Parts 3-4
265 plays
in my crooked woodsy dreams
(Source: steak-sauce, via yomrmalfoy)
Chris polaroids, Bathtub Gin, a fare-thee-well to Rosen, and belly laughs: despite losing (and having a homeless man return, miraculously) my wallet and my general idiocy I still feel pretty dang lucky to have met the folks I have.
autonomy, n.
Link Wray “Oh Babe Be Mine”
182 plays
Diane Arbus photographed by Melvin Sokolsky for Harper’s Bazaar April 1964
(Source: billyjane, via boyhood)
