idk what im doin either

shuckl:

sirruraccoon:

shuckl:

watchthelightfade:

shuckl:

just to avoid accidentally using offensive language i’m going to start using 90s surfer dude slang because inadvertently offending someone is totally bogus dude

people might not want to be called dude

you are radically right and that is so not tubular my friend i apologise

I find your poor grammar and spelling to be offensive to my eyes.

watch me catch this gnarly wave of i don’t care

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dialupmodem:

monobeartheater:

mariaandherproblems:

projectkr:

He is so done with winter . Look at his face

this dog is all of us

he is wearing armor


excuse me mariaandherproblems.tumblr.com, i am NOT this dog so if you could not talk about me like that thx :)

notifigaytion:

if finland’s country border isnt called the finnish line then i have nothing to live for

posted 1 day ago with 206,067 notes
"

The first boy I kiss doesn’t write. He doesn’t understand why my bedroom walls tell stories that are sixteen years too long. He does not write novels on my spine with his fingertips.

The next boy I kiss calls himself a fan of mine, and I find him flipping through the notebooks in my childhood bedroom, reading the words that I throw at strangers but am too afraid to say out loud. My stories are bigger than me, and I fear that if I let them out I will become nothing but a hollow girl with ink beneath her fingernails.

The next boy I kiss tastes like typewriter ribbons and yesterday morning’s coffee. “Your a writer,” I say. “I’d know those shaking hands and tired eyes anywhere.” We spent the night writing sonnets with our tongues, but when I read love poems written to her over his shoulder, I quietly button my shirt and leave, not a single sentence trailing behind me.

The last boy I kiss is the reason I stay up until four in the morning spilling ink instead of blood and I read love poems to him over the phone despite my shaking hands and unsteady lungs. We sat on rooftops chain smoking and screaming poetry at the sky, but now I spend Friday nights with a pack of matches until every word I wrote about him falls like cigarettes ashes.

"
Kissing Boys That Taste Like Ink And Spitting Fire In Motel Sinks // heartofthebitter-mindofapoet (via heartofthebitter-mindofapoet)

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dntdodrugs:

real eyes realize real dick size 

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humansofnewyork:

"I want to be a pilot.""What will be the hardest part about being a pilot?""When the plane crashes."(Nairobi, Kenya)
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thatgirlatthedisco:

alltimecxlum:

YES CASPAR

CAAASPAAAR YAAAAS
posted 1 day ago
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MUSIC PLAYER CODE GOES HERE