The cursed and blessed open road.


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Those few seconds of perfect, controlled flight - you do it again and again -
just to catch that perfect feeling,
that feeling of precision, of strength in every fiber of your body,
abdomen twisting, legs taut, arms strong
Eyes alive, oxygen shakily pouring down your throat after your done -



There's nothing like it.
Nothing.

Where the silence is full and gentle, when everything inside goes still and pure.


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Get no sleep
Feed the empire

Talk of death disturbs people.
For me my awareness of my own mortality is a sign of content, of happiness.
Pictures in black in white, my life is filled with colors that can't be translated into something visual,
Something tangible.


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Oh fuck, it's the spinning rainbow beach ball of death.

No one wants to lead the deceased to the place they must walk alone.

I have no need for ink to trace lines upon my body
My skin collects its own memories
These burns from being the perfect housewife
These stitches - a memento from a bloody fight

My skin is a study in my inner nature:
I bruise easily - memories, facts, places and people

I never quite forget
I never quite forgive
This is the only way I want to live
And this is ( Read more... )

breakbeatheartbeat

never lose this feeling

Working dinners with friends,
Late-night visits, sofa movie screenings, kitchen talks
Midnight snacks of grilled blue cheese and pear sandwiches,
While my russian is getting progressively worse -

I take this as a sign.