I totally get why boys wear boxer briefs now, did you know they made those for girls?
and they’re probably the most comfortable underwear in the world.
I met William’s friend John Rose ( I.E. The Man with the hair) after the break up I never thought I’d actually get to meet him, but he walked right into green art tonight and the minute I saw him I recognized him and ran over to hug him ( which may sound weird but after the stories I’ve heard I felt like I knew him)
A man who comes into my work sometimes saw me at Green Art and started talking to me, he said that anytime he saw me now he was going to call me “butterfly”
I got to see Carlos Picasso, Andrew Cummins’ dog, because he showed up at GAP as well.
People kept talking about relationships: Lisbet told me to read Why Men Love Bitches, and Hip E. Mark started saying that you had to walk through the shit to get to the good stuff, the important thing was just not to sit in it, not to let it bury you, because once it rained, that was it, there was no way out of that hole.
I took less photographs.
I tried really really hard to feel something for someone, but I just don’t. He gives great hugs, he’s a great person, but there’s no spark, there’s no feeling of dizziness, I’m afraid I’ll never actually feel that way about anyone again, or maybe I’m just not ready to feel that way again…..
I have no idea what anything means. Chong ( the Flower Maker) told me that everything starts out with a baby step, and that I probably needed to get good and drunk, there’s more to that story.
into a river, the river
feeding into a great ocean. If the self
becomes invisible has it disappeared?” —Louise Glück, “Formaggio” (via leopoldgursky)
the new edward sharpe album is so fucking good.
so proud of them, they’ve come such a long way.
the best way to break your own heart is by trying to hold onto something that’s already gone.
and I keep doing it,
I just: hold on, and there’s nothing there.
its like trying to touch a ghost.
Yale Daily News column on how we have time to do what we dream of. The writer, 22, died a few days later in a car crash.
Man it sure is dusty around here…
She described herself as a girl cursed with wanderlust, and she terribly wanted to be loved.