Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.
Mat Fraser is a gift (x)
i was looking up paragliding because i want to go paragliding, and i think i’m too heavy to actually do it and i dont know how i’m going to tell gilmour i’m too fat to have fun
so how dare you
use your lazy english
and mispronounce my name
my favorite college experience is when i had a 7am class and the kid next to me literally poured a monster energy drink into his coffee said “i’m going to die” and drank the whole thing
Post with 3 notes
i booked my flight to geneva on friday and i am really excited and a bit scared and this is going to be good for me. i hope this is going to be good for me
mother i must feed
Mother, why do you cry?
*does something incredibly stupid or embarrassing* well, one day we’ll all be fucking dead. Everybody dead. We’ll all die. Fucking dead. Everyone. Fucking everyone gone. No more bad times.
everything is sort of weird and sad and i want to sleep next to you
Suddenly you’re 21 and you’re screaming along in the car to all the songs you listened to when you were sad in middle school and everything is different but everything is good.
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