This is me, trying to figure stuff out. Stuff and things. NSFW.

Solitude did increase my perception. But here’s the tricky thing—when I applied my increased perception to myself, I lost my identity. With no audience, no one to perform for, I was just there. There was no need to define myself; I became irrelevant. The moon was the minute hand, the seasons the hour hand. I didn’t even have a name. I never felt lonely. To put it romantically: I was completely free.

Christopher Thomas Knight, who lived in the woods of central Maine from 1986 until 2013 with little to no human interaction.

[The Strange and Curious Tale of the Last True Hermit | GQ]

(via iwantcupcakes)

(via cuprinsdefarmec)

Maybe home is nothing but two arms holding you tight when you’re at your worst.
— Yara Bashraheel   (via bruisinq)

(Source: yarotica, via teaintheafternoon)

Lie down and look up at the ceiling and breathe with those curiously fragile lungs of yours and remind yourself: Don’t worry. Don’t worry. All is as it was meant to be. It was meant to be lonely and terrifying and unfair and heaving. Don’t worry.
The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home, Condos (via unmaiden)

(Source: headofporridge, via a-thousand-words)


"You chased a bottle of aspirin with vodka" 
"I had a headache"

have a wonderful day : )
…I think a bit more butter since what I’m doing here is seeking to offer protection from life solely through the means of butter, potato and cream.
Nigella Lawson, on making mashed potatoes   (via dailydoseofstuf)


“Your soul knew my soul
long before we needed skin
to spend a life in.”
— 	Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson

Evening dress, attributed to Jeanne Lanvin,1922

The beautiful unknown. #affirmations #artjournaling #taketheleap #believe #bebrave