beben-eleben:


Kid gets a banana as a prank gift from his parents on his birthday. Look at his excitement. This kid is my hero. 

This is how happy you’ll be when you don’t expect from people.

beben-eleben:

Kid gets a banana as a prank gift from his parents on his birthday. Look at his excitement. This kid is my hero. 

This is how happy you’ll be when you don’t expect from people.

(via bluespotter)

So what? You failed your finals. You gained some weight. So what? You’re single again. You lost your job. So what? What now? You live. You try again. That’s what. — (via escarletes)

(via lukeevans)

mylifeaskriz:

ruineshumaines:

Liz Climo on Tumblr.

this really cheered me up

(via lumpyrug)

I am
a series of
small victories
and large defeats
and I am as
amazed
as any other
that
I have gotten
from there to
here…
— Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers At Last (via introspectivepoet)

I think that pretty much every form of fiction (I’d include fantasy, obviously) can actually be a real escape from places where you feel bad, and from bad places. It can be a safe place you go, like going on holiday, and it can be somewhere that, while you’ve escaped, actually teaches you things you need to know when you go back, that gives you knowledge and armour and tools to change the bad place you were in.

So no, they’re not escapist. They’re escape.

— Neil Gaiman (via observando)
thepoeticunderground:

"beau•ti•ful (adj.)”
August 21st.

thepoeticunderground:

"beau•ti•ful (adj.)

August 21st.

tsukiyama-shoo:

tsukiyama-shoo:

please tell me im not the only one who remembers that photoset/gif that went around where it has the final scenes of death note where light is trying to defend himself but someone replaced the text so it was him teaching them how to swim

image

(via hangesnose)

mapofproblematiques:

if you’re not singing the guitar solo you’re wrong

(via hangesnose)

Michael Cera has an album. Yep! It’s actually pretty good.

dormtrends:

This bed is so cute!

Want.

dormtrends:

This bed is so cute!

Want.

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there’s no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

— Charles Bukowski, “Alone With Everybody” (via s-pectre)
We don’t even ask for happiness, just a little less pain. — Charles Bukowski (via c4ffe1ne)