bloop bloop

eating almonds, wearing a fucking fedora and reading the weekend edition of the chronicle herald on a rocky boat. hopefully will get to kejimkujik by dusk. au revoir for a bit.


henri matisse, aicha and laurette, 1917

Anonymous said: You look like a freak

this message sort of ruined my day, so congratulations! this was your intention, no? though this does humours me a bit; why should my aesthetic composition concern you in the slightest? 

have a nice day.

this is an apartment of dust blankets and light particles. this is a re-upholstered ‘98 ikea futon. she cried the first time he touched her. this is all she can remember. sixteen, blonde hair twisted in a ponytail, $8 white cotton shorts from the gap. this is an orgasm with a window cracked open to fill the city’s ears. 

…this is a dream of home. a previous home. a home she had recalled sitting in bed on the morning of her most recent one-night-stand. for her, home’s been a hard one to put a finger on. this is an empty bedroom filled with boxes, a 2 p.m. boat ride over the atlantic, a backpack hanging on by a knot of loose threads, a fatherly man chuckling to himself at the importance of being earnest in a nearby chair. he was close to the last page, she noticed. she wondered what lines he’d laughed at. she wondered if he’d laughed at all the parts she thought were witty too. the man offered her a smoke and a cup of watery canteen coffee. she questioned his intentions but accepted the offer. this is not how she remembered living. but this is how she lived. her skin was the shade of a golden potato chip, her stomach, toned. her irises turned white in the sun. she couldn’t recognize her body anymore. she didn’t know where it belonged. she looked older than she’d remembered.

i think she wonders how she got here, there, wherever you’d like to refer to her current location as. she cried as her ferry docked. in front of her lay the brightest grass she’d ever seen. the grass really is greener on the other side. a lighthouse. a lumière verte flickering at its peak. she thought of jay gatsby. what a hopeless guy. damn. it would fucking suck to end up like him. was it her time to let go of the green light? why was it so hard for her to do so? 

when would she learn to move on?

coming home is funny, you know. i’m moving so quickly and all it ever does is stay still. nothing ever changes here. this is comforting. 

i’m losing my mind. this life is spiralling around too quickly. living alone is bittersweet. i miss the dryness of dusty sea salt on my eyelids. my body sleeps in lust. my skin bakes brown in july sun. i feel nothing. i am tired. i am tired i am tired i am tired. i am not equipped for this life. i am so alone. i don’t know where i belong anymore. i don’t know who my friends are. i don’t know who cares about me. but i do know that clearly you don’t.

Anonymous said: Why

rough summer.

Anonymous said: How are you?

deeply struggling.

Anonymous said: are you into sex positive feminism?

very much so! why? are you?

omfg this song!!!!!!!!!!! is!!!!!!!!!!! everything!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

septemberism94:

amoying:

hello this is for u

This picture made my heart so happy
gotitforcheap:

craig chill out man