"They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!” -On The Road, Jack Kerouac"
"I think this is the point where the mind has to go on an evolving stage. The lazy mind cannot grasp it. The lazy mind cannot function. Things like cynicism and irony and negativity, those are syndromes of a lazy mind. It takes no effort to give in. It’s too easy to be a cynic. It’s too easy to be ironic. It’s too easy to be negative. It’s a lot more harder to be like Charles Bukowski or Tom Waits and find a piece of trash on the street and be like, “You know what? This is the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.” It’s a hardcore romanticism. I kind of come from that school of thought. I think that being here on Earth is a gift to make a full use of before whatever the next stage is. A lot effort is required for that. I’m not scared of the effort and willing to give my 100% to speed up evolution. Something has got to happen.” -Eugene Hutz"
"remember that every day contains a universe of potential; exhaust it. live & love so intensely that when death comes there is nothing left for him to take. wealth is love, music, sports, learning, family, and freedom. above all, stay gold."
"remember that every day contains a universe of potential; exhaust it. live & love so intensely that when death comes there is nothing left for him to take. wealth is love, music, sports, learning, family, and freedom. above all, stay gold."
"Death the sorceress, death transmuted into the alcohol of poetry"
(Immortality, Milan Kundera)
(via rasbperries)
(via misswallflower)
(via misswallflower)
"The witching hour, somebody had once whispered to her, was a special moment in the middle of the night when every child and every grown-up was in a deep deep sleep, and all the dark things came out from hiding and had the world all to themselves."
suicideunderground:floatingintheblue: — Roald Dahl
(via misswallflower)
A BRACELET OF BRIGHT HAIR ABOUT THE BONE
The Romans put skulls into their love poems.
Skeletons and dry bones along with love.
As if violet was only beautiful against
something black. We also talked of death,
I perhaps more than you. It made me happy
to think of the newly dead body being lowered
into the coffin of the other. You found
this idea impressive but terrible.
I longed for your agreement and approval.
Wanted you to understand the hugeness of love.
You whispered that our bones would be mixed
together, but probably it was your way
to get me to stop crying and go to sleep.
Which I did, contentedly. I wanted something
to be done, some enactment to prove this secret,
this illicit love. Something too large.
I wanted it made of actual things. Dirt
and corpses even. As real as the table you
said your love was, that I could sit down to
and eat from if I wanted something permanent.
I wanted absoluteness to be made of my heart.
(via misswallflower)
thingsgohazy| scarymansion | shadowsandfog | kissingbrokenthings
I was much further out than you thought, and not waving but drowning. —Margaret Smith
