"She won’t talk to me until I get my shit together."
“Who’s she?”
“Every man has a She.”

(via booksbourbonandblues)


It is no secret that a song can take you back to a moment. Think of how many times you have heard your favorite song on the radio and you remember that night you were at a concert and the band played it. It transports you back to the moment instantly as the faulty camera of your mind does its…


"great writers are indecent people
they live unfairly
saving the best part for paper.
good human beings save the world
so that bastards like me can keep creating art,
become immortal.
if you read this after I am dead
it means I made it.”

- Charles Bukowski, The People Look Like Flowers at Last


Your flitting nature, in, out, here, there, and nowhere at once. You, too afraid to let go. Me, wanting to to disappear into your lies. It’s easy to run when you refuse to want, when you treat it all like it doesn’t exist. It is your greatest talent. That ache in your chest you desperately want…

The full moon, Death Cab for Cutie, and these conversations are not good for my mind.


It’s not an overly romantic statement. It is on post cards from sunny, tropical locales, after all. But if the right person writes it to you, it makes all the difference in the world.

The words appeared on my screen almost out of nowhere. The conversation wasn’t heading that way. I read them and…

“Emotionlessly she kissed me in the vineyards and walked off down the row. We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a duel, and looked at each other for the last time.”
— Jack Kerouac, On the Road


She’ll burn your fingertips as you hold her. She’ll glow, sparkle, and light up the night. She will warm you to your core. Her light getting brighter, blinding you to what she is. Explosive, all nitroglycerine and instability.


There to entice you with her danger, to make you wonder…