"If you end up with a boring miserable life because you listened to your mom, your dad, your teacher, your priest, or some guy on television telling you how to do your shit, then you deserve it."
if mermaids exist i hope they stay hidden because we’re just gonna end up killing them like we do everything else
My thing is, have sex whenever you decide to want to have sex. You want to have sex on the first night, go ahead. You want to have sex after 20 dates, go ahead. You want to never have sex, go ahead. People think that someone’s sexual choices actually coincide with their personality. If all you can think of someone’s worth is whether they want to have sex or not, then the problem is probably you.
"This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important."
"You once asked me to teach you how to be distant and I did. But why would you ever want to inherit my detachment, my walls? I’m the one who needs to be taught. I need you to teach me how to be naked and not shiver every time the wind blows, how to be raw and not get blood on the carpet. Because I’m too busy wrapping my arms around myself and covering everything. I need you to teach me how to shout because I’m too busy trying to whisper. What pride do you find in vulnerability? How do you give everything? Because I’m terrified of it. I’m terrified of coming home one day and seeing pieces of me disappear. I’m terrified of seeing blank walls, or worse, paintings that someone else put up without my permission. I’m scared my body will no longer be my body. That it will somehow be our body. How do you do it? Because I can’t and it feels like there’s something wrong with me. I can look at you and be madly in love with you. I can be mad with contact. And I can still want my distance. I can still want my own paintings on the wall, ones you can’t touch or even see."
It’s hilarious that we live in a society that will shame you for how much sex you have and for the junk food you eat. Like, wow, how dare you eat delicious foods and have orgasms, you’re a monster. Enjoy your miserable life filled with pleasures.
And This is Why I Never Get Homework Done…
(the best vines on tumblr: VinesNow.com)