today an old man called the coffee house he said he was 70 he said he was a korean war vet he read me a poem over the phone about agent orange and thanked me.
(Source: blowkissesnotboys)
night flights, man. night. flights.
I touched a fetus with my hands (don’t worry was wearing gloves)
(two sets of gloves)
(Source: dajana95)
For the past few years on and off there is this house that appears in my dreams. It is always the same house, and in my dreams, I always KNOW it is the same. Usually appears different. I do not know who owns it. (I feel like in last nights dream I knew but I cannot remember,) And I remember the first time I saw it; it was a museum being renovated, and it has been mostly horrifying. But last night -it was so wonderfully dressed and decorated. Empty, but that air of panic that I normally feel inside of this structure was gone. I knew my way around it - as I always do - but nothing was off limits. I touched nothing & left fairly promptly.
addicted to this shit. wish i had a road like that to walk down. would absolutely do it without any form of umbrella.
(Source: fromme-toyou)
nights can get so unexpectedly cold. my sunburn kept me in warmth & in pain. like rays were stuck in my socks aching to escape. when i woke up to grab things from the common area: smoldering, smoky fire. around it littered with empty bottles of beer, wine, jameson. someone asleep in the hammock. remnants of a night. we could see the milky way. the sun was so fucking bright and the night was so fucking cold. i don’t understand why life isn’t like this always.
