’a poster a day’ challenge, 2/?: cony island, taylor swift feat. the national

Reblog and put in the tags the worst physical pain you’ve ever felt.

You cannot live alone on the fantasies you feed to your mind, eventually you have to touch your life for real, assess and analyze your habits, understand your character, try not to hate yourself for your character as it was shaped when you were very young by circumstances outside of you, and begin learning how to cope with your character, how to build habits that work for you, finish small projects, finish big projects, expose yourself to more uncomfortable situations, assess why you want to leave that friendship before you leave it, raise your anxiety levels on purpose, so that you can grow, raise your work load on purpose, so that you can grow, so that you can build resilience, so that your life expands, and can be experienced by you in full and in reality

coffee break and a very cold walk through the city

les miserables, victor hugo / hannibal (3x02) / “staying or going” / @amourduloup / gravity and grace, simone weil

Nude study of Pope Pius VII, 1805, Jacques-Louis David

Medium: crayon

Went on a writing retreat this past weekend and we got snowed into the mansion (luckily it did not pan out like The Shining) More pics here.

it has been snowing non stop these past days and it is so hard to stay inside when you could go outside and take a stroll through the knee deep snow

“Featherstonhaugh, I think I’m gonna eat one of your apples.”

i feel like too many people have forgotten how to be a generous audience when they read/watch something. like sometimes you have to buy into some bullshit plot points or a deus ex machina or a few loopholes as the price of admission for an otherwise fun time. sometimes these things are just gears that get us to where the story really wants to be, and too many people get caught up in those gears. sometimes you gotta meet a story halfway.

if we were villains moodboards 

↳ oliver marks & james farrow

“the following morning I returned gradually to consciousness, floating on the surface of sleep, eyes still closed. something fluttered against my shoulder and I remembered: James. […] I opened one eye, unsure if I should move but reluctant to risk waking him. he’d rolled towards me sometime in the night, and his head was tucked against my shoulder, breath racing down my arm every time he exhaled.” - m.l.rio

‘—in my heart there was a kind of fighting.’ (Hamlet)

youre in her dms, im in her made up fantasy daydreams she uses to escape. we are not the same.

When Bukowski said "We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing."