Modern Guilt

"Asi te amo porque no se amar de otra manera, sino asi de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mia,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sue~no."

Daniel. 20. Puerto Rican
Literature Enthusiast, Anti-sentimentalist

I love Music, Literature, News, and Europe
"Stepping out, Oliver glanced up at the light positioned at the top left hand corner of the entrance to the patisserie; the edges of the cage it was trapped inside slowly coming into focus as he pulled the collar of his denim jacket up around him. He blocked out the laughing behind him as the door slammed shut, shaking the bell, the glass panes rattling.
The wine had almost certainly gone to his head, and as the light rain hit his unwashed hair, making its slow and cool descent to his scalp, he slowly pulled his focus from the lamp and looked down the street stepping out onto the cobbled road. 
Paying as much attention as he could, he slowly pulled out his tobacco and then dove into his jacket; hunting in a calm and organized frenzy, he felt around inside his pocket. He found two half-smoked croatian cigarettes slightly crumpled, and a little damp. Realizing he’d forgotten to buy rolling paper he replaced the tobacco in his back pocket; taking out one of the cigarettes he clumsily brought it to his mouth and lit it, breathing in deeply.
As stale as it was, it was better than nothing and so he pulled quietly and fully until he was burning his throat. His head felt light; he hadn’t smoked all day. Tossing it on the ground, he let it fizzle out on the damp cobble as he pulled out the second. 
He stood there, shoulders slightly hunched, receding into his jacket as the light drizzle became a gentle shower, the cigarette in front of his face, he gazed at its inadequate length. Slowly he put the cigarette to his mouth and lit it, placing the lighter in his tight trouser pocket. One hand in his pocket, the other holding the cigarette he exhaled and lifted his head to watch the smoke writhe and slither over his head; rain getting into his eyes.
Turning on his booted heel, he took a step down the street, and another, leaving the gentle circle of light the lamp provided. His fingers felt about to burst, his very skin seemed thin and frayed; the cigarette was almost unbearably hot against his cracked cuticles. Unfocused. He took another pull.
The wine had definitely gone to his head.”
Daniel Valentin-Morales

"Stepping out, Oliver glanced up at the light positioned at the top left hand corner of the entrance to the patisserie; the edges of the cage it was trapped inside slowly coming into focus as he pulled the collar of his denim jacket up around him. He blocked out the laughing behind him as the door slammed shut, shaking the bell, the glass panes rattling.

The wine had almost certainly gone to his head, and as the light rain hit his unwashed hair, making its slow and cool descent to his scalp, he slowly pulled his focus from the lamp and looked down the street stepping out onto the cobbled road. 

Paying as much attention as he could, he slowly pulled out his tobacco and then dove into his jacket; hunting in a calm and organized frenzy, he felt around inside his pocket. He found two half-smoked croatian cigarettes slightly crumpled, and a little damp. Realizing he’d forgotten to buy rolling paper he replaced the tobacco in his back pocket; taking out one of the cigarettes he clumsily brought it to his mouth and lit it, breathing in deeply.

As stale as it was, it was better than nothing and so he pulled quietly and fully until he was burning his throat. His head felt light; he hadn’t smoked all day. Tossing it on the ground, he let it fizzle out on the damp cobble as he pulled out the second. 

He stood there, shoulders slightly hunched, receding into his jacket as the light drizzle became a gentle shower, the cigarette in front of his face, he gazed at its inadequate length. Slowly he put the cigarette to his mouth and lit it, placing the lighter in his tight trouser pocket. One hand in his pocket, the other holding the cigarette he exhaled and lifted his head to watch the smoke writhe and slither over his head; rain getting into his eyes.

Turning on his booted heel, he took a step down the street, and another, leaving the gentle circle of light the lamp provided. His fingers felt about to burst, his very skin seemed thin and frayed; the cigarette was almost unbearably hot against his cracked cuticles. Unfocused. He took another pull.

The wine had definitely gone to his head.”

Daniel Valentin-Morales

(via be-a-serial-killer)

noirbettie:

totallyfubar:

I have a physics textbook from before the electron was discovered and they just sound so frustrated it’s hilarious

"We have no fucking idea what is happening but we know SOMETHING is happening."

(via shippingacrossthesevenseas)

cremebuns:

emeralddragoness:

cremebuns:

A man just walked past me and said “excuse me, but you look very nice tonight darlin” I said thank you and he said you’re welcome and walked off. And that is how you compliment a woman without harassing them

No, that is still unsolicited, and thus, harassment. No amount of “darlins” is gonna make me not want to punch your ass for coming on to me without provocation.

GOD

SHUT UP

UR SO STUPID

But for reals, being nice to people doesn’t need solicitation. Sorry not sorry. Compliments are compliments and it’s just nicety. 

Humanity needs to be nicer to one another, not further alienated. 

(via harrypotter-and-lordoftherings)