"Fake Death" by Tigers Jaw
I wish that people stayed where they died. Their bodies not being moved or touched. Death is such a bold thing in itself and I hate the fact that we take that away. I would feel the weight of sadness a lot more if I witnessed a person that it consumed. I would have a better grasp of time if I saw it age a person and eat them away.
It’s no wonder death is such a feared thing.
It’s so unexposed.
Just a thought……
Anonymous asked: Why do you want people to tell you things? Because I want people to tell me things too, I just don't know why... why uncomfortable things?
Imagine how many times you’ve been in a closed area with strangers. Whether it be an elevator, office space, bus, taxi, etc. Now imagine if while you were in those confined spaces, you asked a Hollywood question. One that not only related but touched to everyone.
“Who was your first love?”
“When was your first heartbreak?”
“How did you cope with the first death handed to you?”
I’m constantly stabbing at others. I’d like to feel the prick sometimes too. That itchy kind of uncomfortable that you sink into.
"I'm Ready For You To Come Back" by Weatherbox
here and there
steal me away
because you are the better
and taste the best
my bitter sweet babe
Sex is not a goddamn performance. Sex should feel as natural as drinking water. It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe. Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh. It’s not about being “good in bed.” It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you. Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be. I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want. It’s originality. It’s passion. It’s joy. Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what. You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you. Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel. This isn’t a test.❞
Anonymous asked: lets hangout tonight.