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Favorite color

(via daniidude)

The shaman is the one who mediates between the visible world of form and matter and the invisible world of energy and spirits. For the shaman there is no supernatural world. Only the natural world exists, with its visible and invisible dimensions.
Alberto Villoldo (via talisman)

(Source: shamanesschokbar, via talisman)


Emil Andersson
photo by Carlos Montilla


Emil Andersson

photo by Carlos Montilla

(via lionfloss)


Annita Rivera


Annita Rivera


Andres Gonzalez

(Source: sickpage, via b1llionaire)

but did I still go skinny dipping if I can’t text you about it and imagine you imagining me naked in the dark?
I don’t miss you but sometimes I feel weird (via kiwis4ever)

(Source: porn4smartgirls, via girlswillbeboys)

I am Ophelia. She who the river could not hold. […] I set fire to my prison. I throw my clothes into the fire. I dig the clock which was my heart out of my breast. I go onto the street, clothed in my blood.
Heiner Müller, Hamletmachine (via womenlikeher)

(Source: 16ruedelaverrerie, via arosary)

To feel anything
deranges you. To be seen
feeling anything strips you
naked. In the grip of it
pleasure or pain doesn’t
matter. You think what
will they do what new
power will they acquire if
they see me naked like
. If they see you
feeling. You have no idea
what. It’s not about them.
To be seen is the penalty.
Anne Carson, from Red Doc>  (via violentwavesofemotion)

(Source: foxesinbreeches, via 2amconversations)

Tracey EminI Think it’s in My Head2002

Tracey Emin
I Think it’s in My Head

(Source: autosafari, via sharpedlamb)

because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own. I’ll be your
slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this
              bullet inside me
‘cause I couldn’t make you love me and I’m tired of pulling your teeth. Don’t you see, it’s like
I’ve swallowed your house keys, and it feels so natural, like the bullet was already there,
              like it’s been waiting inside me the whole time.
Do you want it? Do you want anything I have?
Silken, Richard. “Wishbone.” Crush.  (via versteur)

(Source: wordsnquotes, via 2amconversations)

You don’t often make time for self loathing
but today is a different type of day.

In the afternoon, you meet up with an ex lover’s ex best friend in London
here for the day on business.
Over a drink and, ‘it’s so good to see you after two years’
you learn,
a) The wound is still sore.
b) Your ex lied and cheated, often.
c) The ‘friend’ finds you beautiful.

You enjoy the last fact. The other two are burning a hole in your throat
but you enjoy the last fact until, five glasses of wine later,
they miss their flight
and you wind up together in a hotel bed with starched sheets.

So it happens,
(as things do)
and in the end everything just feels a little stale
and, mostly, you just feel like the tissue paper
in the bin or the half cup of water
or the do not disturb sign

and you both say ‘bye without kissing,
the hug is a useless lie,
they get a later flight. You catch the night bus home.

Yrsa Daley-Ward (via thiswillnotlast)

(via nayyirahwaheed)

Stars are not small or gentle.
They are writhing and dying and burning.
They are not here to be pretty.
I am trying to learn from them.

Caitlyn Siehl, “Sky Poem” (via chocolatefrogs)

from my book, which can be purchased here:

(via alonesomes)

(via pretentiousloser)



Bad Vibes Co. // Tapiwa