(via loveyourchaos)
“The United States spends over $87 billion conducting a war in Iraq while the United Nations estimates that for less than half that amount we could provide clean water, adequate diets, sanitations services and basic education to every person on the planet. And we wonder why terrorists attack us.” — John Perkins, Confessions of an Economic Hit Man (via antisocial-socialist)
(via marxisforbros)
(Source: gabriellegoulart, via elephantinthepicture)
A picture of the eclipse 2012 from the nasa.
beautiful!!
(via loveyourchaos)
I hope you will still be my friend when I regret it.
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(Source: catsbeaversandducks, via catsncats)
thesis
I’ll never make it home. I’ll never make it home. I’ve found out the problem and that’s that I’ve gotten too familiar with myself. Too much time in this head. I’ve gotten too predictable, know the exact fracture of the next breakdown before it can even happen. And in this way, I don’t know myself at all. Can’t create anymore, not when I know what the feelings are going to be before they’ve been felt. Secondhand emotion. Anger coated in rubber, grief insulated in flame-retardant. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I can’t create because I’ll never make it home. And home, home isn’t a place or a feeling but just a moment, years ago, lying on my back in a field just off campus while the dew starts to soak through my shirt. I’ve run the whole way but the vodka-sweat is wicking away and it’s too cold to stay but it’s been a night, a long night, and nothing ever goes the way it’s supposed to, and the sky’s lightening but I’ll be asleep before the sun comes up, tracking mud into my bed, but I don’t know this yet, only that I can see my breath despite it being May and that I can feel the Earth turn if I just sit quietly enough. I can feel it better than my own pulse. Home is this moment, this moment that keeps trying to write itself but never comes out correctly.
(Photo: Ieuan Griffiths)
Darth Atlas