R.I.P. Ray
Say Hello to Jim for us. ♥
(Source: marketwarriors, via teacup-peony)
Dead and Bloated- by Stone Temple Pilots (from Core)
Six hour naps are nice.
Dear angry
Teenaged girl,
If you write
Your poems
In this kind of
StructureI won’t even
Read them
Let alone
Reblog that shit
(Source: donutsdontwearalligatorshoes)
My Tuesday was spent going out to La Porte to see this, the San Jacinto Monument. The Battle of San Jacinto is where the Republic of Texas won it’s independence from Mexico. I was going to write a long post about it, but it’s late, I have a headache, and it’ll make good material for a pen pal letter. However, I will say that I expected more. I can’t really articulate my feelings for it, but it left me a bit unsatisfied. Oh well, at least it gave me a reason to get out of town for a few hours.
My eye caught a dark form lying on the river bottom. It took me a few moments to comprehend what I had stumbled upon. Lying peacefully in the shallow waters of the river, only a few meters from shore, was a full-grown cougar. The contrast between the serenity of the scene I was witnessing and what must have played out here in the cougar’s final moments made me shiver. It was the first shiver of many, as I stripped down and waded out into the icy water to get this shot. x
(via lkjslain)
Hypothetical Hysteria
What if you woke up one day and realized you were mediocre.
Some half-baked version of the greatness you aspire to be.
Some worthless wannabe who walks upon airs, raised stilts in an empty theatre. Only you shouting with heightened diction.
Just another poor artist. Just another pretentious poet.
Just some loner who was never given enough attention, and now basks in the artistic glory of being “different.” But what you really mean is “better.”
Better because of what? You’re syntactical superiority? Your imperial intelligence?
You carry such ambition in that well-worn basket. Where are the others? I don’t know.
Should I care?
Look at you. You’re lazy. Pathetic. You’re ryhmes are nonsensical, you’re meter doesn’t match. Jesus, the comma splices.
The run-on sentences that drag on for an eternity, draining the reader of that once-natural love of literature, as you sit back, pleased, at this “masterful” creation, or whatever you call it.
Fragments. abused Capitalization for only the purpose of so-called importance. Justification because you’re a writer or a painter or a poet or singer or the generic term of “artist.”
The ever-insinuating remarks that i am an artist and therefore i am better than you.
But really. Really. You were just fooling yourself. Really, you’re yet another desperate person risking absurdity, putting everything on the line to stamp their name into history.
Really, you’re just like everyone else. You’re normal. Common. Average.Typical. Plain. Bland. Mediocre.And there’s nothing worse than spending your entire life believing you are destined for greatness, only to realize that everyone else thinks so too. Making you just like them. A copy. A sham.
Y o u
A r eM e d i o c——
Trust us, the minute we figure out how to develop a true scratch-n-sniff cover, you guys will be the first to know.
June issue drops next week. Start making your guesses at who made the list and get your antacids ready. It’s gonna be a beautiful summer.
