Yes Please.

Yes Please.

(Source: fuckyouverymuch, via thegiftsoflife)

(Source: scottjgallagher)

thingsorganizedneatly:

SUBMISSION: Bedford stop on the L.

thingsorganizedneatly:

SUBMISSION: Bedford stop on the L.

heathpollock:

how to be a great writer by Bukowski

heathpollock:

how to be a great writer by Bukowski

(via henrycharlesbukowski)

tylerallanpark:

“Meet Me On The Wrong Side Of Town”. Fabric with spray paint. 6’ x 2’. By Tyler Allan Park. Website: tylerallanpark.com

tylerallanpark:

“Meet Me On The Wrong Side Of Town”. Fabric with spray paint. 6’ x 2’. By Tyler Allan Park. Website: tylerallanpark.com

(via scottjgallagher)

(Source: whiskeysoaked, via foxontherun)

(Source: whiskeysoaked, via foxontherun)

phytos:

William Anastasi - Free Will, 1968

phytos:

William Anastasi - Free Will, 1968

(Source: blue-voids, via arpeggia)

// Trigger.//

The fact that someone knocked on my door had so quickly become a strange and special occasion. I thought it was Barb. We hadn’t had the time to hang out in a few weeks, and she might’ve badly needed a study break. Between preparing to leave the country, daily things, and my winter finals I hardly had time to eat. A study break would’ve done me good. As I walked to the door I didn’t even shout “coming” or “it’s open” -it usually wasn’t- I just walked up to the door and opened it. I saw a little black flash of curly hair on a figure two or three inches shorter than me. Morgan. She could be my sister, or at the very least my cousin. Being on a very caucasian campus she and I were often asked if we were just that. I hugged her and shouted a stream of shock, happiness, and profanity. She came in, and she brought Taylor, which automatically made it awkward. Of the 8 times we had talked this semester, 4 of them were initiated by some rude or semi-rude remark she’d made. I didn’t know how to treat this, but Morgan didn’t know.. and I figured we’d both be awkwardly cordial.

They came in and sat on my couch, and I tried to avoid the boring questions she’d be asked over and over again and just stuck to “how are you”, and “how was it?” to at least show I cared. I didn’t know what to say to be honest. I was still in a stiff studying mode from having my nose buried in books and hands covered in graphite most of the day and I had completely forgotten that she would be in town. We decided to go out and smoke, and as we were sitting on the stairs of my apartment complex, she began to tell us stories of leaving her friends at the Luis Munoz airport. As she talked about her friend Lucas crying “and the french don’t show emotion”, I smoked, glad that I suck at showing emotions. I wouldn’t stand out that much in France. We finished our cigarette and went back inside from the cold and she asked me when I would leave. I told her the dates and she said that we’d have time to hang out. Then it hit me just how little time I have left here. I realised that we might not.

Because we're livin' in a material world