Sound of parrots and a plane distant train

http://willsellers.tumblr.com/ask

Misery is wasted on the miserable… You think spending time with her, kissing her, having fun with her, you think that’s what it was all about? That was love? THIS is love —- missing her because she’s gone… wanting to die. You’re so lucky. You’re like a walking poem. Would you rather be some kind of a fantasy? Some kind of a Disney ride?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?! Don’t you see THIS is the good part —- this is what you’ve been digging for all this time. Now you finally have it in your hand, this sweet nugget of love… sweet, sad love… and you want to throw it away. You’ve got it all wrong…
The bad part is when you forget her, when you don’t care about her, when you don’t care about anything. The bad part is coming so enjoy the heartbreak while you can, for God’s sakes.

— Dr. Bigelow to Louie C.K. S04E10 (via gavincastleton)

(Source: paullepaulp)

robdelaney:

I made a video for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, whose info I urge you to save and share with others. 

Fucking bullseye.

I think falling in love for first time is such a transcendental feeling. You know, it’s like eating pizza-flavored ice cream. Your brain can’t even process that level of joy. And love makes people do crazy things, like kill people, or shop at Crate & Barrel. It makes us all a little delusional. I really feel like our whole lives, no matter how low our self-esteem gets, there’s some part of us that thinks, “I have a secret special skill that no one knows about, and if they knew, they’d be amazed.” And eventually, we meet someone who’s like, “You have a secret special skill!” And you’re like, “I know! So do you!” And they’re like, “I know!” And then you’re like, “We should eat pizza-flavored ice cream together.” And that’s love, it’s this mountain of pizza-flavored ice cream and…delusion.

— (via misstwinpeaks)

(via supfruit)

I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Shut up, let me tell you, let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, and you’re just fun and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough. I feel like I’m going to live a thousand years because that’s how long it’s going to take me to have one thought about you, which is that I’m crazy about you. I don’t want to be with anybody else. I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream, you were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real.

— 

Louis CK  (via awayed)

I crey

(via chingate)

(Source: nastalieee, via snacktacular)

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.

— Sylvia Plath (via erost-ratus)

(via itiscallie)

(via supfruit)

Favorite musics released in 2012. 💿📻🎷🆒

Favorite musics released in 2012. 💿📻🎷🆒

amandaonwriting:

Emily Dickinson - At Work
Emily Dickinson, born 10 December 1830, died 15 May 1886 was a reclusive American poet.

amandaonwriting:

Emily Dickinson - At Work

Emily Dickinson, born 10 December 1830, died 15 May 1886 was a reclusive American poet.

(via brilliantsugar)

(via allistormiguelrichards)

(via supfruit)

(Source: eyeonspringfield)

have you heard the good news about god’s app and the meaning of life? (Taken with Instagram)

have you heard the good news about god’s app and the meaning of life? (Taken with Instagram)