heckacute:

I touch myself whenever I think about you. More specifically, I rub my temples because I get a headache because you’re awful. 

Why does that obstinate little voice in our heads torment us so? Could it be because it reminds us that we are alive, of our mortality, of our individual souls – which, after all, we are too afraid to surrender but yet make us feel more miserable than any other thing? It is a terrible thing to learn as a child that one is a being separate from the world, that no one and no thing hurts along with one’s burned tongues and skinned knees, that one’s aches and pains are all one’s own. Even more terrible, as we grow older, to learn that no person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us. Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that’s why we’re so anxious to lose them, don’t you think?

in Clerks (1994)

"Well, Jimmy here has me on lock down, so I don’t know how that’s going to work,” he glances down the bus, to the manager that’s standing by the door, and adds in a low voice, “Dude’s like a fucking chihuahua.”

museinspo’s aesthetic series  — the stoner

When i’m fucked up, that’s the real me.

I thought I was an atheist until I realized I’m a God

“Good stories always start with bad ideas. Time waits for no man, so we won’t wait for time. This isn’t going to end well, but it starts just fine. Here’s an idea, you’ll sleep when you’re dead. Here’s an idea, sleep with me instead. Come on dear, you know it’s getting late. This won’t end well, but the middle sure is great.”

you chug a fifth of alcohol by yourself & everyone around you is too busy cheering to wonder how empty you had to be in order to do it

this fucked me up (via obsessiveloserr)