Livin', lovin rap and the good life, immerse the self in art and good fun. indulgences but not indulgence.
We the Realest Killers

childish wonder, when you take the rhinestoned teddy bear necklace you were given and feel its pains, and you look at its eyes, and know it was hurt on the flight, and stroke it, and laugh a long with your family at it, then return it to a safe place among other small animals and promise its security. and when you love this bear, 

misdirected emotions, yet so wonderfully sporadic

older, can you afford these lost energies? everything is so calculated, calculated, but my calculator broke a while ago, and on the math test I had to borrow Kinza’s, so is it not enough for me to love my metal bear and stare into their eyes recognizing their aged stillness for my own, simultaneously on the early and late stairs of life, when society expects the peak, and is it not enough for me to be able to halt this time-without guilt, and though the clock ticks (must melt it by now!) can I not “pretend” “pretend” all these people, let me sink back, delve back, and my third crown chakra is hyper active, and something else is hypoactive, but activity should be null except for that which calls the least developed of energies, archeabacteria of the mind, first beings, simple beings, earliest life, and oldest at once, under water of course,…

refluent:

Legs1 (by Jae Kim)
veridians:

(by leonhard.kätzel)
Just tell me how to be different in a way that makes sense. To make this all go away. And disappear. I know that’s wrong, because it’s my responsibilty, and I know things have to get worse before they get better. I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why their here. If they like their jobs. Or us. I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It’s like looking at all the students and wondering who’s had their heart broken that day. And how they cope with having three quizes and a book report. On top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why. Especially since I know that if they went to another school, the person who had their heart broken would have had their heart broken by somebody else, so why does it have to be personal? It’s much easier to not know things sometimes. Things change and friends leave. And life doesn’t stop for anybody. I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everybody was, especiall me. I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and than make the choice to share it with other people. You can’t just sit their and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things. I’m going to do what I want to do. I’m going to be who I really am. And I’m going to figure out what that is. And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn’t do or what they didn’t know. I don’t know. I guess there could always be someone to blame. It’s just different. Maybe it’s good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Because it’s okay to feel things. I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite. I feel infinite.
cachaemic:

by Ralph Giunta
dipsandchips:

Musèe du Louvre Entrance :) 
I swear it was the best art museum I’ve ever seen in my life- everything (of what I managed to see on the first floor) made my jaw drop
lucifers-lover:

. (by Häre Christian)
vanished:

Amanda
Cancers are the best, always

Herman Hesse is a Cancer, too!