church of phocks

▲341 | reblog | orig | 1 month ago

The state of things to come, that are, and that have been, seem to be what they are due to a general adherence to a common principal or pattern. As I look around, this is what I see. I see friends out buying food and probably having a beer. I see dogs on the ground, looking around. I see everything as it is, and as it should be. I see a hundred dead singers with their throats all cut out. I see an ocean full of monsters just a-waiting to get free. I see ten legged spiders all crawling around you. I see fish that fall backwards into a million trawling ships. I see tales on a dog that are wanting to be free. I see computers breeding in office laboratories. I see rabid wild dogs running free on a mountain. I see the gods of the old world assemble on top of the capitalist buildings and reign down abuses on an unhearing public. I see the new God weep in the corner. I give her my shoulder to cry on.

▲ | reblog | 2 months ago

Still I gape, like a young bird, unsatisfied, for something that has escaped me. I cannot keep myself together. I am like a log slipping smoothly over some waterfall. Virginia Woolf; The Waves (via cigarette-curls)

(Source: insipidexpectations)

▲81 | reblog | 3 months ago

If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless. John Green, Looking for Alaska (via smitedd)
▲1262 | reblog | 4 months ago

Flowers toss their heads outside the window. I see wild birds, and impulses wilder than the wildest birds strike from my wild heart. My eyes are wild; my lips tight pressed. The bird flies; the flower dances; but I hear always the sullen thud of the waves; and the chained beast stamps on the beach. It stamps and stamps. Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via typewriterjazz)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion)

▲640 | reblog | 4 months ago

But every man is more than just himself; he also represents the unique, the very special and always significant and remarkable point at which the world’s phenomena intersect, only once in this way and never again. That is why every man’s story is important, eternal, sacred; that is why every man, as long as he lives and fulfills the will of nature, is wondrous, and worthy of consideration. Herman Hesse (Demian)

(Source: eloquence)

▲35 | reblog | 4 months ago

Justice is dead. Fear, recrimination, innocence, sympathy, guilt, waste, failure, grief, were things, emotions, that no one really felt anymore. Reflection is useless, the world is senseless. Evil is its only permanence. God is not alive. Love cannot be trusted. Surface, surface, surface was all that anyone found meaning in… this was civilization as I saw it, colossal and jagged… Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho (1991)
▲1 | reblog | 4 months ago

When a child first catches adults out—when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just—his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. John Steinbeck, East of Eden (via kizm3t)
▲14 | reblog | 5 months ago

What difference does it make after all?—anonymity in the world of men is better than fame in heaven, for what’s heaven? what’s earth? All in the mind. Jack Kerouac, On the Road (via sadlittlebaby)

(Source: rustingsoul)

▲407 | reblog | 5 months ago

Catcher

(Source: goldenshovels)

▲10897 | reblog | orig | 6 months ago

Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering Heights

(Source: sukforhonesty)

▲27 | reblog | orig | 6 months ago

(Source: julliaholland)

▲26872 | reblog | orig | 6 months ago

I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn’t remember especially because the transitions from life to death and back to life are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it. Jack Kerouac, On the Road (via ikeapunx)

(Source: fuckyeahbeatniks)

▲329 | reblog | 7 months ago

If you really want to bring a man down, light a cigarette in the middle of intercourse. Of course, I really don’t like men at all sexually. What I really dig is chicks. I get a kick out of taking a proud chick and breaking her spirit, making her see she is just an animal. A chick is never beautiful after she’s been broken. Excerpt from William S. Burroughs’ Junky (via amethyst-deceivers)

(Source: avanelle)

▲27 | reblog | 7 months ago

themarvelousm:

nepeter:

one day im going to hire a prostitute and just tell her about my feelings

(Source: shalrath)

▲40202 | reblog | 7 months ago