stop/start.

in media res in high res.

i think that john green and zach braff would be great friends

newport-nikes:

i blame zoey 101’s shitty attitude and outlook for the decline of our generation 

it’s like wanting to kiss someone so badly that you kiss a wall

being real is hard but also great like those moments when you say to yourself in your head “wow i am alive right now” and if there is someone with you when it happens you turn to them and tell them “i feel alive thank you and thank everything” but it also feels like you are dying.

you are dead in the reflection of river scum and the floating trash covers certain features of your face so your fingers dont have to and the sunset is also reflected and for some reason it is more aesthetically appealing than the actual sun and you could be that too.

everything can be a mirror if you want it to be and so can everyone. talking on the phone can be more intimate than touch. being asleep can be more visceral than being awake but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be dreaming when you are breathing actual air and your body is actually trembling because of actual things and you forget about the parts that make you second guess all of the other parts. those moments could be all of the other moments too.

i haven’t vomited in weeks.

a mosquito landed on my cigarette and immolated itself

comakid.

—hey everybody its summertime

you said “hey watch this” you peeled yr skin off
laid it out like slugs dying on the sidewalk
with their salty eyes // blue pen ink in my stomach
why’d you look surprised when i told you i was nothing ??

the moon is bloated and im waiting for yr call

im gonna spill my guts when we’re walking home from playgrounds

cleaning the dirt out from underneath your fingernails with a pickaxe

putting tiny scratches on dvds hoping that they will skip in the right spots

wiping the sleep from your eyes only to discover your hands are tired now

drink gatorade

drink gatorade

this is your first day on the job; do not sweat.
you are a commercial for laundry detergent. 
you are a commercial for toothpaste. 
you are either or // i like you, probably.  

coca cola baptism in the lobby of a sheraton
high fructose corn syrup anoints the paper forehead
and the family sighs in harmony with the infant’s first
soda hiccups and caffeine coughs 
born with tangerine eyelids and a crooked smile
born to a full moon in october

a homeless man with broccoli florets in his beard reading an erotic supermarket sex novel and coughing up yellow spit turned to me and told me that television means a lot to him that he can’t get enough television that television was his everything and then he told me to 

when not serving their intended purpose, the backs of towtrucks become crucifixes.

when the tar on the interstate suffers its first cracks of the winter, the horizon becomes the alter and the parallel yellow lines become the aisle.

the truck driver who just got divorced and whose two children are just getting to the age where they start to become wary of everyone around them, spits out the window and his phlegm becomes holy water in the time that it takes to leave his lips and hit the pavement but stops being holy water when it hits the pavement.

im calling out tumblr user sleepiestboy because his url is a total lie because i am actually the sleepiest boy

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