And like the sea, I’m constantly changing from calm to hell.
Dallas Green (via sifragos)

(Source: nidravasa, via sun--flours)

live-sincerely:

“Patience child, patience. Remember, life is a journey. If you got everything you wanted all at once there’d be no point to living. Enjoy the ride, and in the end you’ll see these “set backs” as giant leaps forward, only you couldn’t see the bigger picture in the moment. Remain calm, all is within reach; all you have to do is show up everyday, stay true to your path and you will surely find the treasure you seek.”

— Jackson Kiddard 

(Source: wethinkwedream, via overlyenthusiastic)

I’m the biggest sucker for sketch alleys and red doors 👧❤️🌃

I’m the biggest sucker for sketch alleys and red doors 👧❤️🌃

There is a season for wildness and a season for settledness, and this is neither. This season is about becoming.
Shauna Niequist (via wordsthat-speak)

(via wordsthat-speak)

toopinktobepure:

Hi.

(via bobcooper)

marniethedog:

I love art

marniethedog:

I love art

(via bobcooper)

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
I am large, I contain multitudes.
Walt Whitman (via theimperfectideal)

(Source: alexanderguns, via panadolgirl)

Remember the wolves that you run with are wolves
I do not want to live. I want to love first, and live incidentally.
Zelda Fitzgerald  (via juliaraupp)

(Source: letters-to-nobody, via juliaraupp)

satanworship:

i love banksy

satanworship:

i love banksy

(Source: benfrostisdead, via juliaraupp)

It’s the part of the story after the girl disappears,
and I know she’s already dead,

but I keep watching
until her friends find her in the boathouse
her limp body dropped over the edge of the dock, bare-

chested and blanched, her hysterical
boyfriend heaving her up and holding her close,

corpse-wet hair
clinging to the sweat of his neck. This is how I miss you:

I am the dead girl’s hand
slipping down her waist and smacking palm up
into the water.

I am ashamed of our distance,

the six hundred miles between our bodies
and how you sob when you tell me that since I’ve gone
what remains is the space where you once grew
around me, the same way a tree absorbs ruin

and the hollow of constructed frames.

On the screen, the boyfriend is now victim,
tearing through woods, clipping every branch
while the killer walks coolly behind him
knowing he will fall eventually.

I have never sacrificed

a virgin with the knives I keep in my kitchen.
There is no wolfs bane or garlic beside my bed.
I sleep unprotected.

But because I know endings, I will never make love to you
in the crypt of an abandoned castle
or parked in the woods with your back pressed against the dash

of a jet black El Camino as the hook hand scrapes closer
and closer to the door handle.
I know about the tissue of the heart,

the persistent pull of muscle and bone,
and the beauty of blonde hair

against the shoulder of night. Because of the Wolf Man
and Frankenstein I understand heartbreak,
how we cannot escape the inevitable
full moon or torchlight, and the way my stomach moves
when you ask me what I am thinking


and I am thinking about someone else.

What I Have Started to Understand About Love

 Because I Watch Horror Movies; BY KEITH KOPKA

(via juliaraupp)

(Source: allmymetaphors, via juliaraupp)

might of been raised by wolves.. Nomadic, impulsive, wolf in sheep's clothing... architecture/design/music/art whore. My life is a continuous haze of day dreams spent in an imaginary place.