28,425 plays

(Source: t0mie)



huntingtonlibrary:

caption: Charles Bukowski and his cat Manx, ca. 1985. Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens.

huntingtonlibrary:

caption: Charles Bukowski and his cat Manx, ca. 1985. Huntington Library, Art Collections, and Botanical Gardens.



fleshy-flower:

New index card doodle! ^_^ Part of my index card series! I will have a bunch of these mini prints for a dollar at the Santa Ana Artwalk! It will be this saturday from 6-10pm in the Santa Ana Plaza in Downtown Santa Ana! Hope to see you guys there! More details on the artwalk on my facebook page: www.facebook.com/artbybeverly
^_^
instagram: @beverlysalas

fleshy-flower:

New index card doodle! ^_^ Part of my index card series! I will have a bunch of these mini prints for a dollar at the Santa Ana Artwalk! It will be this saturday from 6-10pm in the Santa Ana Plaza in Downtown Santa Ana! Hope to see you guys there! More details on the artwalk on my facebook page: www.facebook.com/artbybeverly

^_^

instagram: @beverlysalas




fuzzypause:

All 12, neatly arranged in boxes.



I am a silly bus riding tourist Pretending to be a Dane Shh quiet you loud Americans When I wake up I am Danish it is too early to be an American And I am just so tired

I am a silly bus riding tourist
Pretending to be a Dane
Shh quiet you loud Americans
When I wake up I am Danish
it is too early to be an American
And I am just so tired



the highway don’t care (but i do)

dreamingyearning:

there is a skull on my mug and i think that my mug might be my skull

i am trying to keep my eyeballs from falling out of my head

(They have had enough abuse

and there is talk of unionization)

as I walk to the bus stop at 12:34 am.

the dry wind burns as I step

on a slightly green tinted plastic bag.

We are just meat bags and blood sacs

adversising ourselves to other

meat bags and blood sacs.

Feel slightly nauseated and insane

listening to the errie symphony of beeps that is

this intersection.

See myself trying to use a bag of weed as a bus pass, a simple mistake.

Overhear Arabic, attempt to understand Arabic,

feel humbled.

I am constantly humbled by my ignorance of the world.

(maybe “shamed” is a better word)

Realize I could try and change this, if i wanted to,

but i am too lazy and fat.

Realize if I forget about myself then this blood bag will ride the bus for infinity.

And that would be bad.

Because it has class

at 8:30 am on Monday mornings.



i am out of emergen-c (and this is an emergency)

dreamingyearning:

wrote so many words and now i feel responsible for them

i think about this while moving shreds of cloth to higher ground

sniff each, although this is largely a formality,

and then tuck them in.

the phlegm in my throat and my cigarettes are conspiring against me.

they volley me back and forward until i am drowning in my own lung juice.

open my window and breath in the sun rays like the spaghetti you swallowed without finishing because you couldn’t be bothered with chewing and now i can feel the thick handfuls marinating in phlegm coated in cancer and choking me, choking you

now it’s dark and there is no sun because i ate it all, consumed it as it

consumed me.



called bill evan$

russell-zintel:

Porto cats and cigarettes

And pineapple juice

And i am pressing all the

Things i just listed into a

Face (not mine) with clay

Covering it.

My face feels cold too, but yours feels warm.

It’s a part of my face and

everyone else can see it

but I can’t see it.

Jazz cats, juice and gin - FUCK

It pours the day into a glass

watch as it moves into the night

I think westboro baptism is closet homosexuality/self-loathing projected as dogma

I hope the universe is a soft wet warm
Indifferent flock of butterflies i hope will come together to hug my penis

i take a picture of a church with my phone

the phone belongs to me

therefore the church belongs to me

I tend to walk around with a mirror because I’m unable to see my own face

I think each of us is limited to a singular death brought on by a singular instrument, whatever that ends up being

the sum
of everyone’s google searches/Facebook activity is slated as a person’s continuation after death

I play the “what if” game while I scroll
try on different realities with casual ignorance (arrogance)

Snort a line, and repeat
the same goddam thing I have been doing since birth - what else ?
consume and then console
myself - death takes it’s time.

Death is the small of life
or life isn’t taking its time

I am paying a televangelist to proselytize about my life like a religion

but he still channels
his own ego




boomingmusicscene:

Angel Olsen - NPR Tiny Desk Concert

too in love



(drunk)ego

dreamingyearning:

i am aware that i am a “broken record”

i don’t i don’t i don’t want to be a person person person

i drunkenly echo. puke off the balcony

while the train is coming and going again.

we go “out for drinks”

exchange slips of paper and metal disks for an hour of purpose.

i light a cigarette to prolong my purpose.

i see you wondering in the dark, “what’s the point”

so we leave, and scream at the happy couples passing by:

EVERYONE SUCKS

AND SO DO WE