If you smoke and you’re around non-smokers, don’t smoke. If you don’t smoke and you’re around smokers, find something to do with your hands. Don’t recount dreams, unless they can be condensed into one sentence. When telling stories about people you barely know, have met once, or invented—refer to them as your “friends.” Buy a round of shots. Buy two rounds of shots.

Memorize jokes. Nod your head, but not too vigorously. Keep your mouth open and slightly smiling. Are you chewing gum? Keep your mouth closed, avoid smacking sounds. Slouch artistically, not lazily. This is done by making sure your neck doesn’t follow the line of your spine. Adjusting your pants too much will make you look suspicious. Point to the left and exclaim “Oh my god,” then pull them up quickly while no one is watching. When people ask what you saw, say “I thought someone was getting robbed.”

Megan Boyle, How To Make Friends And Convince Them You Are Someone Fun And Not Insane And Worth Inviting Next Time on Thought Catalog (via thoughtcatalog)

Sep 1 +131

Cigarettes are devices she uses to mark time. It comforts her to know that just by holding something, she receives a temporary identity of Person Smoking a Cigarette. People on the other side of the street will see her smoking and know that she is part of the world of cigarette smokers. They will not ask questions. She has always feared that the world sees her as she sees herself—a strange, wandering thing that could easily become detached from gravity, float out of the atmosphere and into space without anyone noticing.

A Small Blue Soldier on the Dashboard of a Car Driving Somewhere by Megan Boyle (via muumuuhouse)

Sep 1 +532
figs3 

fast-machine:

muumuuhouse:

poem by Megan Boyle from Vomit

the thing i identify most with megan boyle is that she seems to have mild rosacea like me.

Sep 1 +98

brandonspeck:

I have been waiting for a photoset of this for a while.

Sep 1 +27024

brandonspeck:

brandon speck

Sep 1 +17

Many people with severe anxiety and/or depression are also anti-authoritarians. Often a major pain of their lives that fuels their anxiety and/or depression is fear that their contempt for illegitimate authorities will cause them to be financially and socially marginalized; but they fear that compliance with such illegitimate authorities will cause them existential death.

Bruce Levine, Ph.D. | Why Anti-Authoritarians are Diagnosed as Mentally Ill (via america-wakiewakie)

this article is always relevant.

(via brandonspeck)

Sep 1 +1817

therhododendronsonhowthhead:

"I need to know you’re out there…"

Cosmogramma // Flying Lotus

Sep 1 +199

if your anger you
burn so brightly, you
rage like mars
to the point that I want
to call you a summer storm,
I want to characterize you by your anger
(mouth a summoning trumpet of war)
janus-faced and desirious
I want to make you
red
bold
hot.

Lago Lucia, For Molly | this is my moon: mystery collection (via strayarrowpress)

Sep 1 +20

foxpawz:

back to santa cruz tour forever

Sep 1 +12

I don’t identify with the power of rising above anymore.

I’d rather slip between your ankles and forget
the whole mess of wanting desire.

Like I said, I’ll be prey when it’s your funeral.
Until then, bite me and I’ll walk.
I am not a woman.
I don’t want to remember anymore.

Lago Lucia, of hating and submitting and the balance | this is my moon: mystery collection (via strayarrowpress)

Sep 1 +27

brandonspeck:

brandon speck

Sep 1 +28

cactus-princess:

Sext: I bought you a plant.

Sep 1 +18386

Are you alone

loqui:

in the hallway,
in the space before work?

are you alone,
in the bedroom of thoughts
before you leave?

are you alone,
on foot, on the bus,
or in the car
between cars,
on lunch
between bodies
whose mouths
talk in don’ts?

are you alone,
in the dream
in the corner of your screen?

are you alone,
snuck away
a secret key
in your own hands,
in your own words,
if a memory serves?

Sep 1 +131

I want to be pressed tightly
in-between all the darkest parts of you.
I want to meet the ravens
that circle around your pupils
while we gaze at each other like prey,
something to sink our teeth into.
Your talons carried me across your city
before I woke up soaked in you.
Worn, sleepy-eyed, stripped,
plucking feathers from my teeth,
sweating out the night.

Brandon Speck (brandonspeck) - from his poem, Feathers in Words Dance 17. (via wordsdancemag)

Sep 1 +932

brandonspeck:

you were a baby once
now you’re a criminal

Sep 1 +6