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Submitted by: midnightvision
Posted on December 11, 2011 via FUCK-YEAHPICKUPLINES with 7,058 notes
Source: fuck-yeahpickuplines
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(via fuck-yeahpickuplines)
Posted on September 30, 2011 via FUCK-YEAHPICKUPLINES with 291 notes
Source: fuck-yeahpickuplines
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It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.
But happiness floats.
It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
It doesn’t need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
and disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
and now live over a quarry of noise and dust
cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities
of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records…..
Since there is no place large enough
to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,
and in that way, be known.Posted on September 23, 2011 via follow the yellow brick road.... with 101 notes
Source: ramonaray
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Like most others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles - a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going.
Hunter S. Thompson (The Rum Diary)(via myquotelibrary)
Posted on September 22, 2011 via quote library. with 193 notes
Source: myquotelibrary
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Alice: How long is forever?
White Rabbit: Sometimes, just one second.Lewis Carrol (via serialstranger) -
Farting Bull
Chen Wenling, What You See May Not Be Real, 2009, fiberglass and paint. Installation in Beijing Art Gallery in 2009 The “farting bull” sculpture by Chinese artist Chen Wenling is pretty straightforward. It depicts an explosive fart by the golden bull of Wall Street pinning a demon-horned Bernie Madoff to a wall. One writer described the sculpture as weird, wild, and wicked. Happy Sunday-funday!
Posted on September 22, 2011 via WTF Art History with 574 notes
Source: wtfarthistory
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Posted on September 21, 2011 via History Repeating with 1,491 notes
Source: myhistoryrepeating
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W. W. Norton: Quarantine
In the worst hour of the worst season
of the worst year of a whole people
a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.
He was walking – they were both walking – north.She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.
He lifted her and put her on his back.
He walked like that west and…Posted on September 21, 2011 via W. W. Norton with 122 notes
Source: wwnorton
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Poetbabble: THE OUTLINE I INHABIT 1. IMAGINE WHAT PAIN SAYSIn the ghost-making fog...
THE OUTLINE I INHABIT
1. IMAGINE WHAT PAIN SAYS
In the ghost-making fog the phone rings.
Sure, I’m unnerved, but I listen.
I strain for meaning. So when I hang up,
everything’s sore. When I hang up,
I have to write down everything
that hurts.
Imagine what Pain says:
I’ll keep in touch….Posted on September 21, 2011 via Lust For Lascaux with 54 notes
Source: poetbabble
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Posted on September 21, 2011 via inspiration over aspiration with 78 notes
Source: thoughtdreamer
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