Texas I can smell you

Texas I can smell you

(via sunflwr-saurus)

(Source: coutugh, via tangleray)

lovers - of - friends - of - friends

wanting to see a movie alone at 7 tonight, wishing it were later because i love that light so much and would hate to miss it

leaving in three-ish days, gone ‘til the 16th or 17th … maybe we will just never come back

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new


Days you are sick, we get dressed slow,
find our hats and ride the train.
We pass a junkyard and the bay,
then a dark tunnel, then a dark tunnel.

You lose your hat. I find it. The train
sighs open at Burlingame,
past dark tons of scrap and water.
I carry you down the black steps.

get dressed slow

(Source: therumpus.net)

"Your voice sounds completely different in different languages. It alters your personality somehow. I don’t think people get the same feeling from you. The rhythm changes. Because the rhythm of the language is different, it changes your inner rhythm and that changes how you process everything.

When I hear myself speak French, I look at myself differently. Certain aspects will feel closer to the way I feel or the way I am and others won’t. I like that—to tour different sides of yourself. I often find when looking at people who are comfortable in many languages, they’re more comfortable talking about emotional stuff in a certain language or political stuff in another and that’s really interesting, how people relate to those languages."
- Francois Arnaud for Interview Magazine (via iraplastic)

(via suffire)

(via 00550)

rode my bike over to the studio; ate dinner at the farmer’s market; sat on the ledge of an old building on the tracks and drank beer/watched the trains; walked halfway home, got kissed/kissed back so hard then rode the rest; now i’m in bed with tv and snacks — is this real life?


ate the best bacon banh mi walked around deserted downtown oakland played this tune under the fairyland sign by the lake

why am i leavin this place it’s just started givin gifts to me

feelin this

quit my job today, going on a road trip in a week to baltimore, charlotte, philly, cleveland, detroit with someone i am so into — then moving to austin! i am feeling SO GOOD about life, things are happening!! atm at a karaoke bar in athens, just sang “creep” by tlc nbd w/e hey

i haven’t read the book, but a friend shared this review with me yesterday — said it reminded him of me and how i’ve been feeling the past couple months (or longer) since working a series of retail or retail-related jobs. and he’s right — which isn’t any revolutionary discovery or anything, i was aware of the way i’ve been feeling and why, but it’s reassuring to see it written like this. just wrote out my timeline for the next month, and it looks like i’ll be quitting (putting in notice) in 10 days, moving to austin by the 24th if not before … feeling SO FULL



I am moving to Austin with a favorite person (hopefully people ??? hello bullfarm) so soon and i cannot even handle the excitement … gonna just die

this is so real and so good
visited our new home town this weekend and it felt like home
here we go what is life


"In real mourning, it is the “test of reality” which shows me that the loved object has ceased to exist. In amorous mourning, the object is neither dead nor remote. It is I who decide that its image must die (and I may go so far as to hide this death from it). As long as this strange mourning lasts, I will therefore have to undergo two contradictory miseries: to suffer from the fact that the other is present (continuing, in spite of himself, to wound me) and to suffer from the fact that the other is dead (dead at least as I loved him). Thus I am wretched (an old habit) over a telephone call which does not come, but I must remind myself at the same time that this silence, in any case, is insignificant, since I have decided to get over any such concern: it was merely an aspect of the amorous image that it was to telephone me; once this image is gone, the telephone, whether it rings or not, resumes its trivial existence.
(Isn’t the most sensitive point of this mourning the fact that I must lose a language — the amorous language? No more “I love you’s.”)"
- Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse

some real shit from okayballoon


some real shit from okayballoon