Jul 26, 2014
107,337 notes

captainstormwind:

the truth is out there.

The infinite universe

(via oolongs)

Jul 25, 2014
22 notes

theroamer:

It’s been a long time on my own.

Jul 25, 2014
16,476 notes
excdus:

Super snowy Harajuku at 2am on Valentine’s Day night 2014.
(source)

excdus:

Super snowy Harajuku at 2am on Valentine’s Day night 2014.

(source)

(via smogggy)

Jul 23, 2014
0 notes

August 2014: Europe in Leisure

Copenhagen///Berlin///Prague///Munich///Rovinj///Como///Annecy///Alsace///Cologne///Hamburg///Copenhagen///USA

image

I’m gonna feel like a super amateur touring noise band, yea!! Anyone have any recs?

Also I’m so anxious about the whole thing that I may not actually make it to the airport, but I’m trying to be optimistic here, hypin’ it up.

Jul 23, 2014
11 notes
I don’t smoke no cigarette, I don’t drink no alcoholI ain’t had much loving yetBut that’s always been your call.Hey I don’t miss it babyI got no taste for anything at all

I don’t smoke no cigarette, I don’t drink no alcohol
I ain’t had much loving yet
But that’s always been your call.
Hey I don’t miss it baby
I got no taste for anything at all

(Source: thewriteronthestorm)

Jul 18, 2014
3 notes

I did get a bike yesterday! It’s a lil thumper learner bike, 1971 Honda SL 125 Enduro. However it died on me so fast that I couldn’t even really take a picture first, and taking pictures of a dead bike is shameful. The price was really right and included some problems: blew a fuse after 20 min of riding (although it ran great for test rides) probably resulting from a shot stator overloading the voltage. It runs fine with a new fuse but there’s no telling for how long it will. The front suspension is also shot, it’s fine for smooth pavement but not cool for off road at this point. Also the kicker is fucked beyond measure, and it needs a new fuel line (easy). NEVERTHELESS, it’s a good feeling to have a bike and now I have concrete things to learn about and do.

Jul 18, 2014
1 note

Tonight I’m staying up as late as I can. The wind’s blowing now and the owls are quiet, and I’m alone. That’s the way he wanted it to be.

Truth be told, I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore. Isn’t that a cliche? I go through the motions every day. I don’t call my friends and I am seeing them fall away one by one. I never thought my heart would be so decentralized, so inconceivably lost. 

And in the skies above Ukraine, a plane explodes. I’m going to stay awake until my eyes burn until it’s definitely tomorrow, until I can lay it all to rest.

Jul 7, 2014
62 notes
From my favorite desert space parka Willie photo shoot

From my favorite desert space parka Willie photo shoot

(Source: winding-tree, via fuckyeahwillienelson)

Jul 3, 2014
1 note
1500 miles to the Puget Sound and back, to the Rogue River, through the driest California. Past the three peaks: Shasta, Hood, Rainier. Sitting with an old friend on a Washington State beach as she told me about the island forests across the water, the warm sand like the sweetest salve on my skin. I have beautiful people in my life, that’s for sure. And so much sweet pea flowering it could fill up the near-empty Shasta basin. 1500 miles, and not an inch closer to you, who is eternally 1 million miles away. There is another hole in my heart that I must work to fill now- with sweet pea, river water, constellation maps.

1500 miles to the Puget Sound and back, to the Rogue River, through the driest California. Past the three peaks: Shasta, Hood, Rainier. Sitting with an old friend on a Washington State beach as she told me about the island forests across the water, the warm sand like the sweetest salve on my skin. I have beautiful people in my life, that’s for sure. And so much sweet pea flowering it could fill up the near-empty Shasta basin. 1500 miles, and not an inch closer to you, who is eternally 1 million miles away. There is another hole in my heart that I must work to fill now- with sweet pea, river water, constellation maps.

Jun 27, 2014
0 notes

The Water is Wide

The water is wide; I cannot cross over. Neither have I wings to fly. Build me a boat that can carry two, and both shall cross-  my true love and I.

There is a ship and she sails the seas. She’s laden deep, as deep can be. But not so deep as the love I’m in, and I know not if I sink or swim.

I lean my back against an oak, thinking it was a mighty tree. But first it bent, and then it broke. So did my love prove false to me. 

I put my hand in some soft bush, thinking the sweetest flower to find. I pricked my finger to the bone and left the sweetest flower behind. 

Oh love is handsome, and love is kind. Bright as a jewel, when it is new. But love grows old and waxes cold, and fades away like morning dew.

The water is wide; I cannot cross over. Neither have I wings to fly. Build me a boat that can carry two, and both shall cross- my true love and I.

Jun 26, 2014
3 notes
Today, in the Mausoleum under my favorite building in the world, I saw a vault inscribed simply with four kind words: "Beloved, I am home."

Today, in the Mausoleum under my favorite building in the world, I saw a vault inscribed simply with four kind words: "Beloved, I am home."

Jun 26, 2014
1 note

Every morning I wake up just before the first bird sings and watch the cold blue light fill my room through closed eyelids. I am so grateful for the few folks that have chosen to spend time with me, as sullen and shy as I am. They are the true grace in my life. My stomach has been rolling in anxiety and nausea all week- how deeply I do long to feel close with somebody who understands me, somebody who is so inaccessible and defensive that he might as well be on another planet, who returns phone calls much later, and only under obligation, who asks me “Can I go now?” With him, I am just a humiliated child. Yet all of his possessions lie still in my garage  or “our” room like ugly gravestones, waiting & waiting & waiting. So it’s all:  Lord, mercy! Although not a soul is listening.

Why do we hold so desperately onto the elements in our lives that are completely broken? What salvation is there in the flimsiness of some beat-up love story that doesn’t even exist anymore? By my bed there is a sign: The past does not exist, the future is not yet here. No, what I need is to throw away the phone along with the battered hope, pack up and on a settled stomach just drive, north to Bagby like in that movie, or south to Big Sur and learn to hold my head high like I should have done at a much, much younger age. 

Jun 25, 2014
1 note

So far the Bay Area has been all tacos, all driving, all holing up into deep sleep with nowhere to go when the sun makes its dark blue ascent. The Big City all at once, feeling like I left a year ago just last night. That line from rock salt and nails goes “And nothing is worse, than a night without sleep.” Finally someone agrees with me. And now I’m listening to OM, wondering how I can do the things I barely know how to do better.

Jun 25, 2014
3 notes

The sickest, the illest//WOVENHAND

(Source: blessedwhiteeyesore)

Jun 18, 2014
587,729 notes

(Source: officer-judy, via perriee)

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