Install Theme
David Bowie

—Without You

It’s intoxicating, the way you never leave my brain; the way you float through and within me. We can’t make sense of each other and yet something lies there, waiting to be said or unsaid. It’s beautiful, the way that you never leave my brain; it’s like some privilege you’ve gained from me – you just never leave my brain. On some days, daydreams attain meaning; the very meaning that you decide to give them. And once you make daydreams meaningful, hold your breath, right there, you’re creating your own illusion and set it free to play with reality. And I want to be with you in this, you know? I want this because I want it with you. Did you say something? Did I miss the connotation behind that smile? Am I allowed to undress you in mind, am I allowed to pretend I don’t care whether you sense this or not? You know you’ve never left my brain; somehow it throws itself at you and moves inward toward the unknown territory of some thoughtless desire. You will remain there because I demand it of you. Play along and do not ask for an explanation; it’s a brain thing, who would dare mention the soul? The soul must surrender because you never leave my brain. The soul must accept its loss; it must courageously step back and resign. It’s infuriating, the way you never leave my brain; continue doing so as long as you don’t mess with fate. Keep away from me and ignore me. Let’s talk about something I’ve forgotten to mention: You never leave my brain.

paintdeath:

"Stay with the pain, don’t shut this out.  Without pain, without sacrifice we would have nothing. This is your pain. This is your burning hand its right here. This is the greatest moment of your life and you’re off somewhere missing it. First you have to give up. First you have to know, not fear, know that one day you are going to die.  Its only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything." 

Fight Club (1999) Directed by David Fincher

(via rats-on-ritalin)

2,844 notes

When she said duh

07/27/2014

07/23/2014

Born to Kill

07/23/2014

Born to Kill

957 notes
deadbeatsblog:

'First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth. Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself. It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.’ — Carson McCullers, The Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories

deadbeatsblog:

'First of all, love is a joint experience between two persons — but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved. There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries. Often the beloved is only a stimulus for all the stored-up love which had lain quiet within the lover for a long time hitherto. And somehow every lover knows this. He feels in his soul that his love is a solitary thing. He comes to know a new, strange loneliness and it is this knowledge which makes him suffer. So there is only one thing for the lover to do. He must house his love within himself as best he can; he must create for himself a whole new inward world — a world intense and strange, complete in himself. Let it be added here that this lover about whom we speak need not necessarily be a young man saving for a wedding ring — this lover can be man, woman, child, or indeed any human creature on this earth.

Now, the beloved can also be of any description. The most outlandish people can be the stimulus for love. A man may be a doddering great-grandfather and still love only a strange girl he saw in the streets of Cheehaw one afternoon two decades past. The preacher may love a fallen woman. The beloved may be treacherous, greasy-headed, and given to evil habits. Yes, and the lover may see this as clearly as anyone else — but that does not affect the evolution of his love one whit. A most mediocre person can be the object of a love which is wild, extravagant, and beautiful as the poison lilies of the swamp. A good man may be the stimulus for a love both violent and debased, or a jabbering madman may bring about in the soul of someone a tender and simple idyll. Therefore, the value and quality of any love is determined solely by the lover himself.

It is for this reason that most of us would rather love than be loved. Almost everyone wants to be the lover. And the curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many. The beloved fears and hates the lover, and with the best of reasons. For the lover is forever trying to strip bare his beloved. The lover craves any possible relation with the beloved, even if this experience can cause him only pain.’

— Carson McCullers, The Ballad of the Sad Café and Other Stories

38 notes
untrustyou:

Noel Camardo
354 notes

i was havin a great time until i remembered that i was ugly

(Source: antiteen, via obligerent)

498,200 notes
No matter how much you feed the wolf, he keeps looking at the forest.

— Ilse Lehiste (via creatio-ex-materia)

(Source: lord-wolfsbane, via creatio-ex-materia)

10,770 notes