August 2012
96 posts
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Perched atop the metal railing with your half-dead cigarette hanging out of your mouth, you really look like an old bird trying to find its balance. It’s your cap, your shoes, your shirt and all that which makes you look even stranger than what you were supposed to be: a responsible working adult. But instead you’re the worst.
And that’s why even when it’s...
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The trouble with feelings is that you can send it out on a silver platter with gold sprinkles to someone who cares over and over again and they’ll take it while it’s hot. But at some point in time, their taste changes and you weren’t told about it and they send it back with scathing comments.
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You Don't Want to Miss Ta-Nehisi Coates's AMA
Redditor: Is there anything that you think regular non-writers can do to improve their writing?
Ta-Nehisi Coates: Write, read, write, read, write, read. Rinse. Repeat.
in between the equation of two people, the one that loses out most is the one who can’t peel themselves away from a wreck :(
My mind went on a drunken, paranoid overdrive at two in the morning and I couldn’t sleep - this feels like a storm brewing between us. I’m not sure if confirmation is always the bestest thing. When it comes to feelings being handed out on a silver plate, I’m scared. Hands shaking, knees buckling, I always take news very harshly. Hours later, my fingers are still clicking and...
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Stout was disappointingly thin and weak so cue more irrational displeasure and discontentment. And in order to blanch out the bitterness pooling at the back of my tongue (as I spit out weak insults and malice about an unknown yet again), it was shot after shot after shot after shot to wash it all down to the pits of my stomach - and to also quell the fire in my heart. It sears the back of my...
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There are some horses that have to be dragged to the trough for it to drink water but there are also horses like you that still would have their heads pushed in the water and still not drink it. Just because someone is fucking forcing you to do it at their time and condition.
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Staying up late, staying down stairs. I always head down for a little smoke break but inadvertently still look up across to your block. And with each breath that I inhale and the extra that I exhale, it’s all the anger that I’m just trying to let go each time.
How dare you be the one to let go first, you motherfucking piece of shit.
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Always stumbling around here and life and there and longing tipsy every night. A glass of liquid gold turns into a glass and a half and then two and three and my cup is just permanently in my hand. Maybe it’s so I can sleep better but I think it’s also doing a better job at blurring reality into a ball of time instead of a linear track.
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Today at work I came across a Jezebel article talking about a Reddit thread full of sexual abuse and rape. It was the flipside story to rape where rapists or explain themselves and I was this close to a panic attack in office. And I hadn’t even gone into the Reddit thread. I had to step outside for a smoke to calm my nerves but my head is swimming full of nightmares and the past and I can...
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as usual, real life is too disappointing and fiction is so, so fantastical even though its set in supposed reality
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“I’m lazy, only manage to jog for 2 days. I smoke, an act of damaging health. I’m...”
– Faye Wong (via nnnoirnoirnnnoir)
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“Writing is something you do alone. It’s a profession for introverts who want to...”
– John Green (via silliiboo)
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As usual the 38748th post on how I hate my mother, want her to die etc etc. I have come to accept that I am terrible but I want her to be out of my life forever. She can just remain as stories where I channel all my anger into. It upsets me that I have to be so angry with her, or hate her so much, but the truth is she fucking upsets me and she knows what she’s doing, like why the fuck would...