"As if in slow motion, frame by frame, the world would take on the old logic — absolute silence, then the wind, then sunlight, then voices. It was the burden of being alive."
"Over and over—there it is, my friend, there it is
—as if the repetition itself were an act of poise, a balance between crazy
and almost crazy, knowing without going, there it is, which meant be
cool, let it ride, because Oh yeah, man, you can't change what can't be
changed, there it is, there it absolutely and positively and fucking well is."
— The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien
Lauren, 19, writer/writing major at SUNY Purchase, generally sad about life.
how do other white people manage to feel so persecuted on tumblr that they need to make a fucking half-assed photoset about it on the daily like the worst i’ve ever seen is ‘why can’t white people handle spicy food’ and i just read it like ‘yeah. yeah you’re right. i’m white and i buy mild salsa. you got me’
I am accused. I dream of massacres.
I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them,
Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the
Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
Sylvia Plath, Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices (via seabois