sun-kissed-fitness:
loveandsqualorr:
People born in 1990 can legally drink alcohol.
Obama was sworn into office 3 years ago.
Michael Jackson died over 2.5 years ago.
2007 was HALF A FUCKING DECADE ago.
There are kids in middle school now that don’t even remember 9/11.
There are girls born in 1998 who are pregnant.
There are over 600 pokemon.
o____o
STOP REMINDING ME THAT I’M TURNING 22 THIS YEAR
IT’S ONLY DOWNHILL FROM HERE
:(
Please excuse me while I die. I REMEMBER 90.
(Source: itsjeremiah, via pixiekick)
itouchtouchthings:
The Best Life Advice from Jack Kerouac
“Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don’t be sorry.”
“Forgive everyone for your own sins and be sure to tell them you love them which you do.”
“The only truth is music.”
“If you own a rug you own too much.”
“Don’t use the phone. People are never ready to answer it. Use poetry.”
“Love is all.”
(All.)
the most amazing man ever.
(Source: xbeautifuldeathx, via loveliest)
(Source: overthewhoreizon, via librarious)
(Source: modifiedyouth, via loveliest)
[ your character is getting ready in the morning. write a scene of their morning (or even mid day) routine. ]
She rolls over her bare futon mattress—starkly alone on the putrid jaundice linoleum floor. Stumbling into the bathroom, her thin camisole slipping off her narrow shoulders, she leans over the sink to brush her teeth. She scrubs to dim the yellow taint, letting the minty froth drip down her bony wrist. The mirror is fractured down the middle, splitting into webs at the bottom. She combs each lash with the wand of mascara until they’re thick and reaching up the lid. Her nude lips remain naked but she pencils her brows a tawny brown and dons her thick tortoise frames.
A scarlet distraction to the quiet hours of staring blind at comforters praying for rest.
The crest of morning when clouds blush with warmth and I don’t know why I’m here
anymore, just wish someone would tell me why the sunlight coming through my
bedroom window turns a violent violet when it hits my eyes.
A feverish morning I can’t fight. The wealth of wakeful hours acheing at my back.
Wiping the sweat of dawn dew from the exhuausted brow with the vow to find lost
hours before night fall.
[ what world does your character exist in? Real or imagined? write a scene where your character is shown in their world. ]
Her world is very real, too real; cold in the summers and feverish in the winters. It’s any city, anywhere. It’s never made much difference to her. She’d rather be someplace else, any place else, but that doesn’t make her special.
Her world is made up of dirty apartment floors, broken but usable tea cups, empty fourties of Miller High Life, bounced checks, and a cut-off cellphone. Temp jobs, one night stands—everything is temporary and fleeting, not that she minds. She can’t afford to be bothered. She can’t afford a pack of Camels or Marlborors either. She settles for American Spirts or USAs. She’s used to settling. She was raised to settle; but the thought of settling down twists her stomach into Eagle Scout level knots that worm their way up her throat and make her want to vomit.
(I missed a day. woops.)
(Source: lawyerupasshole, via fuckyeahvintage-retro)
[ think about the character you created for day two. write their seven word biography ]
Her feet will never leave the pavement.