Here's to those outside the fucking veil

Emotionally vulnerable teenage druggie seeks companionship in the form of perception-altering substances, intimate caresses, and heavy metal.

exfatalist:

trekual-innuendos:

Lets have a dystopian future movie where none of the actors are white

Not a single one

No reason

No explanation

There’s just no white people and not a single character questions it

Watch how quickly people notice and get pissed off

but wouldn’t it be better to put one white extra in the far background of a huge crowd shot for a few frames, so we could point to them every time someone gets pissed off?

(via sharingneedles)

pythons:

T O S K A, Lisa Sorgini

"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness.”

- Vladmir Nabokov

(Source: lisasorgini.com, via theongreyjoy)

recovering-please-wait:

If your suicidal and still alive, I’m so fucking proud of you.

If your suffering from an eating disorder and still eating, I’m so fucking proud of you.

If your suffering from a mental illness and your fighting, I’m so. Fucking. Proud. Of. You.

(via thisisntmeimnotmechanical)

escapedgoat:

jayheartless:

When I was 15, and still pretty new to Canada and English terms, my boyfriend at the time told me he liked wife beaters, I side eyed him so hard & called him out on it, while he reassured me it was simply the name of the shirt. 

I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who noticed how fucked up the term is. 

I’ve always hated that shit. I grew up calling them tank tops or undershirts and will continue to do so

(Source: -teesa-, via greyskiesandcolddistance)

lost-moonlight:

The last words he (Kurt Cobain) spoke aren’t known, but he did leave a suicide note, addressed to his imaginary childhood friend ‘Boddah’:

To Boddah
Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee. This note should be pretty easy to understand. All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, the ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true. I haven’t felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now. I feel guilty beyond words about these things. For example when we’re backstage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowd begins, it doesn’t affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury, who seem to love, relish in the love and adoration from the crowd, which is something I totally admire and envy. The fact is, I can’t fool you, any one of you. It simply isn’t fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I’m having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. I’ve tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do, God believe me I do, but it’s not enough). I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. I must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they’re gone. I’m too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasm I once had as a child. On our last 3 tours, I’ve had a much better appreciation for all the people I’ve known personally and as fans of our music, but I still can’t get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There’s good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don’t you just enjoy it? I don’t know! I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point where I can barely function. I can’t stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I’ve become. I have it good, very good, and I’m grateful, but since the age of seven, I’ve become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along and have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess. Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I’m too much of an erratic, moody, baby! I don’t have the passion anymore, and so remember, it’s better to burn out then to fade away.
Peace, Love, Empathy. Kurt Cobain.
Frances and Courtney, I’ll be at your altar. Please keep going Courtney, for Frances. for her life will be so much happier without me. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU

lost-moonlight:

The last words he (Kurt Cobain) spoke aren’t known, but he did leave a suicide note, addressed to his imaginary childhood friend ‘Boddah’:

To Boddah

Speaking from the tongue of an experienced simpleton who obviously would rather be an emasculated, infantile complain-ee. This note should be pretty easy to understand. All the warnings from the punk rock 101 courses over the years, since my first introduction to the, shall we say, the ethics involved with independence and the embracement of your community has proven to be very true. I haven’t felt the excitement of listening to as well as creating music along with reading and writing for too many years now. I feel guilty beyond words about these things. For example when we’re backstage and the lights go out and the manic roar of the crowd begins, it doesn’t affect me the way in which it did for Freddie Mercury, who seem to love, relish in the love and adoration from the crowd, which is something I totally admire and envy. The fact is, I can’t fool you, any one of you. It simply isn’t fair to you or me. The worst crime I can think of would be to rip people off by faking it and pretending as if I’m having 100% fun. Sometimes I feel as if I should have a punch-in time clock before I walk out on stage. I’ve tried everything within my power to appreciate it (and I do, God believe me I do, but it’s not enough). I appreciate the fact that I and we have affected and entertained a lot of people. I must be one of those narcissists who only appreciate things when they’re gone. I’m too sensitive. I need to be slightly numb in order to regain the enthusiasm I once had as a child. On our last 3 tours, I’ve had a much better appreciation for all the people I’ve known personally and as fans of our music, but I still can’t get over the frustration, the guilt and empathy I have for everyone. There’s good in all of us and I think I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad. The sad little sensitive, unappreciative, Pisces, Jesus man. Why don’t you just enjoy it? I don’t know! I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm. And that terrifies me to the point where I can barely function. I can’t stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I’ve become. I have it good, very good, and I’m grateful, but since the age of seven, I’ve become hateful towards all humans in general. Only because it seems so easy for people to get along and have empathy. Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess. Thank you all from the pit of my burning, nauseous stomach for your letters and concern during the past years. I’m too much of an erratic, moody, baby! I don’t have the passion anymore, and so remember, it’s better to burn out then to fade away.

Peace, Love, Empathy. Kurt Cobain.

Frances and Courtney, I’ll be at your altar. Please keep going Courtney, for Frances. for her life will be so much happier without me. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU

(via marijuana-pornography)