If the boy who draws
let’s you look over his shoulder.
If the poet
and shows you her words.
If the girl who sings for the shower only,
hums a song
in front of you.
Know that you’re no longer a person
but the air
that fills their lungs.
When the world perishes,
and all things cease to exist,
you’ll remain inside an ink stain,
a paint brush,
— Alaska Gold
I don’t care what you say these games were fantastic
Ah, the 80’s were so gracious…
The best visual representation of “No Homo!” in cinematic history.
aka every festival performance of 505 from the past 3 years
A pain stabbed my heart, as it did every time I saw a girl I loved who was going the opposite direction in this too-big world.
|—||Jack Kerouac, On the Road (via man-of-prose)|