Meet. Delete. Repeat. On to the next adventure
(Source: Flickr / stuartmckenna, via janeandyvonne)
You lead me kindly to a precipice that I am so inclined to follow. Your bare skin and mine. How close is the air we both breath. Your voice velvet in my head.
(Source: ohsomethingbeautiful, via youbroketheinternet)
I could use a pick-me-up
(via nickelcobalt)
The wonderful CK/CK shared this photograph, taken near London in November of 1942. Breaking between missions flying machines less sophisticated than a contemporary car in a war of annihilation with a nearby and superior enemy, a pilot breaks for a haircut, reading, and a pipe. The insistence on the accouterments of culture, on leisure —the book and pipe, of course, but also the nearly formal attire of the barber and the pattern of the sheet wrapped around his shoulders— seems so British, so laudable, so impossible to imagine today for innumerable reasons one hardly has the energy even to consider.
(via kateoplis)
We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude.
—Aldous Huxley, The Doors Of Perception (via idioticspacehead)
(via meadow-larks)
If heaven be the case, then life is the verdict: inconsequential
It went like this “Suck a fuck”
(Source: mertdoruk)
Mr Dob by Takashi Murakami
What belies that grin, who knows? But on the surface face value is everything.
(Source: speakvolumeswithsilence)
