Cuecaina De Regreso
I do not desire mediocre love. I want to drown in someone.
shinwus (via bl-ossomed)
…I was calm on the outside but thinking all the time.
A Clockwork Orange, Dir. Stanley Kubrick.  (via hrsvt)
satanworship:

i love banksy

satanworship:

i love banksy

En tu sonrisa yo veo una guerrilla, una aventura un movimiento
She said one thing, I said another and the next thing I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life in the middle of that conversation.
Hank Moody (via domeafavordontstripmymind)

I am 22,

I am 22 and my dreams are still -
I wake up somehow knowing that time will never change this, that technicolour will no longer come to call,
I cannot sleep,
I cannot fall asleep for fear of the sunlight creeping through the blinds, over my sleeping form (it wouldn’t know if I were breathing, no-one would) and highlighting the space I still see as yours -

I cannot sleep without you so I weigh the pros and cons of sleeping with someone new, for the hundredth time, to stain my bedsheets with another shade of disappointment -
I haven’t washed them since the last one,
Have I washed them since you? I have no idea.
I weigh the pros and cons, it would still feel like sneaking,

Like tiptoeing behind the back of a shadow, dancing around eggshells that were cleaned up months ago,
Like praying for bookshelves to fall down and characters to spill out, like begging them to berate me, to sneer at my infidelity,
Only…

I am 22,

It has been nine months,
In the same time we could have grown a soul I have broken my own spirit instead - I cannot sleep yet I do not blame you at all -
Except for leaving your art on the walls,
To remind me - of what? - that no matter how long I spent with paint on my knees from crawling through the artist’s home,

His one true muse still haunted the hallways.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about the person I could potentially have become, at eighty years old, if any one of my various flings, failed attempts at romance, soiled bedsheets and numbers deleted from my phone at midnight, if any one of those men had turned out to be The One Who Changed Everything - 

How would I reflect on my existence, as an eighty-year-old woman, were that to have been the case?

Over the next few weeks I’ll be posting some very rough, freeform drafts of a project I hope to complete, 80,where I explore several of these possibilities. They don’t pretend to be finished, and they don’t aim to mean much/anything, but as with all art, perhaps it’ll make you think about something, or maybe it’ll just sound a little bit pretty if you read it at the right time with the right beverage in your left hand.

22 of 80, Daisy Lola.

(via spearmintblonde)