coraline/ dispair
wasted youth
I was in the winter of my life. And the men i met along the road were my only summer. At night i fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them. Three years down the line of being on an endless road to earth. And my memories of them were the only things that sustained me and my only real happy times. I was a singer, not a very popular one. I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet. But upon an unfortunate series of events, I saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky, that i wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken. But i didn’t really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it, to know what true freedom is. When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing - how i had been living - they asked me why. But there is no use in talking to people who have a home. They have no idea what is like to seek safety in other people. For home to be where ever you lie your head. I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me i had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north. No fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was a wide and as wavering as the ocean. And if I said I didn’t plan for it to end up this way i’d be lying. Because I was born to be the other woman. I belonged to no one. Who belonged to everyone. Who had nothing. Who wanted everything. Was a fire for every experience. And an obsession for freedom. That terrified me to the point that i couldn’t even talk about it. And pushed me to an nomadic point of madness. That both dazzled and dizzied me.
✞ ✞ ✞
Every night, I used to pray that I would find my people. And finally i did. On the open road. We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain. Nothing we desired anymore. Except to make our lives a true work of art. Live fast, die young, be wild, and have fun. I believe in the country America used to be. I believe in the person I want to become. I believe in the freedom of the open road. And that motto is the same as ever. I believe in the kindness of strangers. And when i’m at war with myself, I ride. I just ride. Who are you? Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies? Have you created a life for yourself? Where you can experience them? I have. I am fucking crazy. But I am free.

RIDE by Lana del Rey (via only-waking-when-i-sleep)

Posted on Oct 30th (8:00am), 6 months ago
hotboyproblems:

3-15am:

yourmaj3sty:

   On June 11th 1963, Thích Quảng Đức, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk, sat down in the middle of a busy intersection in Saigon, covered himself in gasoline and He then ignited a match, and set himself on fire. Đức burned to death in a matter of minutes, and he was immortalized in a famous photograph taken by a reporter who was in Vietnam in order to photograph the war. All those who saw this spectacle were taken by the fact that Duc did not make a sound while burning to death. Đức was protesting President Ngô Đình Diệm’s administration for oppressing the Buddhist religion.

i love this post. i reblog it every time.

I learnt about this the other day and watched the footage in Humanities, how amazing not one sound came out of him.
blackwhitelanguage:

So damn true.

vintageho:

Bette Davis - In This Our Life (1942)

Posted on Oct 18th (7:48am), 7 months ago
newer / before