thank you. it reminds me of another song I’ve been listening to a lot lately called “Dead Deer” by Evening Hymns.
“buttz make me nutz.”
my brother makes weird sculptures out of dead things he finds
just like my mother.
we used to live in a huge tree house in the rainforest
and there were glass walls around the balcony
and birds used to crash into the glass and die,
and my mother would climb down into the garden
and cut off their feathers.
then she would say a prayer over them and give them a death ceremony
and make art work from their wings.
why does everyone I love
feel the need to make beauty out of dead things?
(via she-wolvves)
(Source: zaoo, via hollywoodsdarkplace)
deal with me.
No one’s allowed to be mean to me.
did the thing that I was not supposed to do and went out and stayed at some random house in Parkville and missed my therapy appointment and assignment is overdue and seriously what is wrong with me but I had fun.
Left this dude’s house this morning after he totally cracked the shits at me for not wanting to continue having sex with him. It was his first one night stand or something and apparently I was ruining his experience. He said “um so are u going to leave me with a boner?” and i said “um, you have a dumb hand, use it,” and he said “thanks for the shit experience” and I said “sorry not sorry” and left.
The younger version of me would probably allow myself to be guilt tripped and manipulated into doing something I didn’t want to do but I’m older and a tiny bit wiser now, well at least I know that it’s ok to say no at any point and this stupid guy needs to learn that asap.
So I left his house, went straight to uni, sleepless, stoned, hung over, wearing a fur coat and black heel boots gaffa taped together. The tram stopped running half way there so I had to walk about 1km in those broken shoes to flinders st in the rain looking like a piece of trash, lipstick still on, beer stain on my skirt, stamps up my arm. Just lapped it up and laughed at myself as I limped down the street, kicking myself for not letting E take me home last night instead.
He would have wrapped me in his camel coat, bundled me into his car, ran me a bath, laid out a soft t-shirt to wear, twirled my wispy hair in his fingers and while Ilaid awake listing all of the things that were wrong with me, he would have softly corrected me and reminded me of everything that is right with me, like he always does. But alas the writer in me would rather choose the adventurous option over sleeping next to a body that I already know my way around.
Thank god for guys like E. He is the only one who left me better rather than worse. One of the few people I’ve been able to maintain a really close friend ship with after realising it wasn’t going to work. He shows no jealousy, still cares about me, soothes all my worries about men and understands me because he actually took the time to listen to me while we were seeing each other.
And those are my thoughts from Thursday.
—Kyo (via gogogadget2lesbiansdoingit)
(Source: a-knot, via thesulfurandthesea)
(Source: ridingintowncarswithboys, via alittlepieceofeden)
going out note to self don’t miss therapy appointment in the morning!
but if you can’t turn up to your therapy appointment hungover where can you really am i rite
WINTER IS COMING.
(Source: heartbreakhotelhoneymoonsuite, via magicbuffet)
“women are weaklings!”
i’m strong enough to carry
your corpse to the woods
this haiku is my favorite haiku
We have this haiku written on the white board in our kitchen.
(via pizza)
Oliver has a new job as a dish-washer and
They pay him $12 an hour
But they pay the girls less.
He is saving for New Zealand
And I am saving my heart for someone really good.
I wrote a song
And I’m going to make a video
With pictures of you to go with it.
Then I’m going to send it to you
And I won’t be sorry if it makes you cry.
Last time I saw you, you had new gashes on your skin
And I showed you some new muscles that I grew,
On account of all the walking that I do now.
You asked me why I’m always walking
And where I go to,
And I told you that I didn’t really know
But I had to put my feet somewhere.
We had a shower together
and you kept turning your body away from me.
You’ve lost muscle
On account of all the drinking that you do
Instead of eating (now that I’m not there to cook for you.)
Sometimes I sit on the roof and cry my eyes out,
Sometimes I write you letters on the back of my hand,
Hoping it counts as an apology.
Sometimes when I’m home alone I get really scared:
One time I sat on the couch for three hours
Holding a brick, a pair of scissors and the mandolin
You gave me for my 21st birthday.
I was staring at the front door,
Waiting for someone to come through it,
Waiting to kill,
And I don’t think I blinked once.
Even the cat was on patrol.
He sat by my feet flicking the end of his tail,
But I don’t know if he was scared of robbers and ghosts like I was,
Or if he was just scared of me.
