We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re all going to die, without really finding out the big answers. We develop all those long-winded ideas which just interpret the reality of our lives in different ways, without really extending our body of worthwhile knowledge, about the big things, the real things. Basically, we live a short disappointing life; and then we die. We fill up our lives with shite, things like careers and relationships to delude ourselves that it isn’t all totally pointless.

Irvine Welsh, Trainspotting (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

colors-usa:

Daidō Moriyama

(via hour-glass-sanatorium)

cleoselene:

Fried Sweet Plantains

(via afro-dominicano)

I had a weird dream where I had to go through this maze in order to get in and out if my dream.

The world is like a ball and you push it and it rolls back and forth an now that I’ve gotten older, more matured, I’ve notice my weight more in my hand when I push the ball and now I can throw the ball in the air, play with the ball, smash it if I want, but I refrain.

They stare into each others eyes, his held by hers in spite of himself, hers glowingly possessive. Their physical attraction becomes a palpable force quivering in the hot air

Eugene O’Neill- Desire under the elms.

Ay-eh! By god A’might she’s purty, an ’ I don’t give a damn how many sins she’s sinned afore mine or who she’s sinned em with, my sin’s as purty as any one of ‘em!

Eugene O’Neil  

Each day is a cage in which he finds himself trapped but inwardly unsubdued

Eugene O’Neil- Desire under the elms

Un-mailed Letter to my Lover

What is this constant doubt in my mind when it comes to approaching woman? I’m afraid to lose them before I even have them, they aren’t objects, they don’t belong to anyone. If you have the opportunity to hold a real life, flesh and blood one in your arms then don’t let go, because they have legs of their own and they can walk away anytime at all.
I think no matter how old I get, I’ll always feel like that little school boy in my heart with his chin in his chest and his eyes on the floor, searching desperately for the one he loves.
I want you, that’s the reason why I act the way I do, that’s the reason I can’t sleep at night when you ignore me. Something so little and insignificant as your kiss holds so much power over. When I’m around I can feel myself achieving my full potential. My back straightens up and I try not to look at you so you won’t think i’m some perverted freak who just wants to runs his filthy eyes over your porcine body. I act so not to act, to show you my true self, whomever that is, in hopes you might say hello and stay awhile for a chat.
That’s it, that’s me, I’m fidgety with love and stutter at the slightest flirtation. My heart flutters just to look at you. I’m sick, I’m so sick with you, you, just you.
Everything is vague, hard to understand, I not sure how to interpret the symbols I’m reading from you. Am I just imposing a confirmation bias on my predisposition for you’re immaculate beauty. Did this happen instantaneously or did it build up over time.
I’m so stupid, facebook is for friends, I need you’re phone number, so I can hear your voice when I can’t hold you in my arms. I’m longing desperately for your kiss. Just one kiss. Soft. Darling. Kiss.
I feel like I could ask you a million little inconsequential questions, but all I really want to do, is get to know you better, I want know where you’re from and the name of your cat. I just want to spend time with you. Listening to you speak. Letting your cats rub up against my leg. I want to thumb through your bookshelf and smell the fragrance of you worn weathered books.