(Source: sl3pt, via the-mooseman)
(Source: vivakafka)
When people ask me what is the scariest movie I’ve ever seen, I often say Jesus Camp.
And I mean it with 100% sincerity.
Still should watch. Getting a taste for the macabre lately.
(Source: earth-oddity, via sasswatcher-from-outerspace)
“Never waste your time trying to explain who you are to people who are committed to misunderstanding you.” — Dream Hampton (via quirky-fairy)
(Source: 31chainz, via magnifiquementtragique)
(Source: zorasdomain, via 2087)
“I was at a casino standing by the door, and the security guard came over and said “You’re gonna have to move, you’re blocking the fire exit.” As though if there was a fire, I wasn’t gonna run. If you’re flammable and have legs, you are never blocking a fire exit.” — Mitch Hedberg (via kateoplis)
this is absolutely bone-chilling
Holy shit.
(via rasputin)
It’s a question I spend most of my day asking myself. The more I try to separate the two, the more I come to think I have to meld them together somehow that I just can not wrap my head around. I was going to apprentice music though here I am now in the throws of my fingers being the apprentices to my mind. One has a brace now from drunken pool foolery, the swimming kind not the que ball kind, but he gets no breaks. Neither do I, my mind at least. I want to pull the teeth from my gums, shatter all the sticks in my hands, and curse at the couple moving in next door. Not because I hate new neighbors, but because I wanted to use their hose at least one more time to fill up my pool. I’m sure they are nice in their own non-specific brand of boring kind of way. Not that I am any different, really, besides my attempts to beat my boring senseless until it goes away for a while or I apathetically forget it is there in the corner somewhere slobbering beer foam all over it’s new white shirt. If a poet stops caring about plot will yo’s heroes turn in their graves or applaud on their backs? “Neither”, answered the poets of vanity, disconsolate, and atheism in unison; “For they are all dead. Least you can do is remember you will be too before long.” If the musician forgets the bridge will the song become better or fall into dark obscurity? The kind even indie accreditation would shy from. Nothing replies, nothing knows.. So it goes, the prose will not let me forget and the notes need me to remember them.
(Source: terrorphone, via 2087)
“Dimitri and Spirit” by Eugenia Loli
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(via oxane)
Robert Levon Been (by theartistree.fm)
(via sweetaia)