i can’t stop laughing he’s like what no climb

24/7/2014 . 292,537 notes . Reblog
24/7/2014 . 297,426 notes . Reblog
Don’t live the same year 75 times and call it a life.

Robin Sharma (via severs)

This hit me like a brick…

(via knitting-books)

24/7/2014 . 97,578 notes . Reblog
You’re not really an adult at all. You’re just a tall child holding a beer, having a conversation you don’t understand.
Dylan Moran (via uncomfortable-)
24/7/2014 . 116,918 notes . Reblog


The marine iguana is an iguana located only on the Galápagos Islands that has the ability, unique among modern lizards, to live and forage in the sea, making it a marine reptile. The iguana can dive over 30 ft into the water.

24/7/2014 . 76,929 notes . Reblog


24/7/2014 . 0 notes . Reblog

Here’s a bit about myself
What kind of person I am
I wanted to kill everyone
Until I killed someone
And now it keeps happening
Life grants your wishes in the worst ways
Only fair for what I wished for
I spent all the bad days drunk and all the good ones high
I don’t even remember most of my life
I fainted when I touched the wood your body lay inside
All mangled and crushed bones sewed together and packed with foam
I’m not strong at all

24/7/2014 . 0 notes . Reblog

Missing hours missing days
Missing that voice inside my head cause now all I hear is yours
I flinch at the touch right to the bone I’m never really relaxed even when I’m alone
You’ve left me stripped skinned on a dare dancing dying on a table with no friends
I’m so bare and empty its like I never even existed and this is just like hell to me its hard to see everything so twisted
I never wanted to write but now I can’t open my mouth so its my last defence and my last real chance
I gotta tell someone or maybe gotta hear it for myself
All I ever needed was to be needed by someone else
Anyway I’m sick of all the prefaces I’m done with mixing, I just drink straight from the top shelf
And I don’t need to hear your stupid fucking bullshit so sit straight shut the fuck up and live right and then maybe try to fix your fucking life

24/7/2014 . 0 notes . Reblog

I wrote this before I left

Follow route maybe?

It is the cause of a slow connection to the source, is it lack of the source, what is it; that what is. Pondering brings no answers and really every second is another question to never have answered. I can’t cope with the revoloution (?) at the moment. Not by the fault of the movement itself, just irony has increased hundredfold and in years the end will come, and we will sit on the mountain, and we will burn too
I keep feeling like something’s happening. You know the feeling, a spike in energy, reads itself in you as manic or depressed. I see the circles closing just behind my eyelids, the rolling motion of the sea carrying the symbols. See the child crying out for help. Cry the child out for seeing help. Find a way out before its too late, I guess.
we are born fast and we just grow slowly to a stop. Stupidly, we believe it to be the other way around. Does it make me weak to not be able to cope with the state of reality and to find it pointless overall? I guess part of me is clinging to the hope that it makes me strong to be able to react in the ‘correct’ emotional state, and understand how futile the state of affairs really is while still persisting.

Miscommunication is our worst problem. Questions become attacks, punches in the form of syllables that rip the air from the lungs. If there was a part in the human body where love was stored, you would have cut it out a long time ago. Good thing I’m stronger than my skin. I find the irony in the copy-pasted pattern of language. See the lines run together.
We are stumbling, desperately trying to grasp together a net of pre-selected phonetics, searching for a word or phrase that most accurately describes the situation and idea. The cube becomes a chalk line on the pavement – we step backwards.

We started off believing we had just lost everything, then we started finding little pieces of ourselves in each other. And just like the stray dogs whose hunger gets the better of them, eating themselves to death in one night after starving for weeks with nothing; we began to devour each other. Starting with the pieces we hated about ourselves, it was easy to give them away because the shell had been broken before the sun came up. As we ran out of steam and dwindled down, rationing each other like the last chocolates in the box, hands tear out the best parts of yourself like the pure memories from when you were too naïve to know better; throwing the pieces around the room until its bruised and battered body falls on the floor at your feet. Golden beaches become pits of screaming children smothering under the corpses of their parents. Bastardisation of everything; I saw the wave rise to take the city and I saw the city burn before it drowned. Relief is not relief, only temporary alleviation of one source as the second stage takes over.

We make dumb ideas over and over and over. Convince ourselves that something is real, that the happiness is there and balanced both ways and plugged in on both ends, but the wire’s broken inside already and neither of us notice for a while. Sometimes I think that’s the game, who can ignore the truth for the longest [we are all bad people]? Who can have the most hope and hold the structure together? I know you lose if you give up, and although I think there’s nothing left to lose I don’t risk digging the hole deeper.

what good is building a ladder when every rung the hole sinks deeper? I used to think there was no way out but I was wrong; every second is a way out and that’s the problem. We aren’t falling in anymore; we’re falling out. Falling through the layers of colours that dance to make up your day.
The irony in the way the magnet pulls. Your home is not in your skin and mine isn’t either. The original intention was to patch the tear and keep walking the roads. [You became the train that took me to the grave. Although I thought you dragged me on board, I really just lay down on the tracks.]

Some people don’t have a problem with this state of being. I hear about them floating through every time and again. Its unusual for them to even realise what has transpired. [we’re almost predominantly second brain now] [whats the first brain? I hear you ask] [its too late then].
I cut myself reaching out to you.

I supposed some threads never really break, a lot more never untangle. I’m trying to push through to say something worth hearing, can’t hear past the blur in my eyes. All senses touch and kaleidoscope together. Life comes together in the lines of circles.

24/7/2014 . 0 notes . Reblog

I can fall in love with anything that will change the way I feel. Even if I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I have proved it time and time again. I spent too long trying to kill myself, too long trying to burn my arms apart, too long trying to cut myself to pieces to get rid of all the parts that I felt weren’t really ‘me’; in the process I destroyed every part of myself that made me a person. Left a shell, wandering around Australia, now a shell wandering around Canada, trying to build myself again. Trying to grow myself into a person. I have my words and I have the bends in my head, the memories of waking up when I thought I should be dead, the memories of waking up after dying; I hated everyone for the doctors and nurses that restarted me and left me with burn marks on my chest. They are fading, my scars are fading, my past is fading and all I have of my teenage years is photos of my shooting heroin and meth in dirty rooms, alone, bleeding half to death in bathrooms and collecting litres of blood in water bottles. All these things that I held onto, to regain some semblance of being human…
Starting again is harder.
When it rains, it pours. When the sun shines it burns me, I’m not accustomed to being alive and I don’t think I ever will be. I don’t think anyone is. Although I watch all these people going about their lives they are all as lost as each other, all wandering, some tied to people or places but in the end, alone.
I took too many drugs. I burnt every memory of my childhood away. Who am I? Where am I, really? What does that mean? What does anything mean?
Everyone is going through an existential crisis, some cover it up better, some busy themselves with work, love life, family… Yet we all watch our dreams get crushed, over and over again, untill we die. There is only so much you can do for yourself. How much of life is in your head…

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why did authors stop naming their chapters i loved it when there was a clever little title for each chapter it was great


24/7/2014 . 157,060 notes . Reblog
I know it’s not a race to raise the sky
Pull back the cover of the eye
And you and I 
Beat the searchlights into compasses 
Its worth a try
At least I thought so when I died

I know it’s not a race to raise the sky
Pull back the cover of the eye
And you and I
Beat the searchlights into compasses
Its worth a try
At least I thought so when I died

24/7/2014 . 0 notes . Reblog


i want dogs to be allowed at more places and i want children under 6 to not be

22/7/2014 . 434,118 notes . Reblog

Art | tumblr on We Heart It.


Art | tumblr on We Heart It.

22/7/2014 . 168 notes . Reblog
Today I was more fucked up then I have ever been in my entire life and I almost died, here’s to hoping to more steps forwards

Today I was more fucked up then I have ever been in my entire life and I almost died, here’s to hoping to more steps forwards

21/7/2014 . 4 notes . Reblog