Sep 19th 2014

I just really hate myself right now. Daisy’s right, Melissa’s right, they’re all right. Who the fuck could want to bridge the gap with this ? I just get angry and go off listening to Monokrom. Who the fuck could want to bridge the gap with that? Fuck it

Sep 19th 2014

FTR:I’m not going to burn down my house.


I skipped class and rode the number five bus all the way east, just to see where it ends. I smoked a cigarette at udall station, got back on the bus again. We’ve been this way since you met me: hearts not heavy, but empty. And once a song could raise me up, but now there’s nothing, so I stumbled home a broken man with blood on my hands, dead on my feet, shot down where I stand. With blood on my hands, dead on my feet, shot where I stand. Freedom is beautiful and terrible, it’s nothing soft and sweet. It’s used bullets on the side walk, fires across the street. It’s you moving in with your new boyfriend in Oakland. It’s a pack of wild dogs on a road without a street lamp. It’s roaches in the bathroom, mice in the kitchen, and no one left to blame for the way I’ve been living. It’s mice in the kitchen, roaches in the bathroom, and no one left to blame. I woke up late and missed class again, so I brewed a pot of coffee and went back to bed. Snatch some bread selling junk from the back of the shed. Hop the fence, because the front’s being watched by the feds. We’ve been this way since we’ve been alive: reckless and shy, so I set fire to the house and took off running. I hope that you won’t mind. I burned down the house to get myself out of this hell alive. I burned down the house to get myself out. I hope you don’t mind. Freedom is nothing soft and sweet, it’s beautiful and terrible. It’s admitting everything that I don’t want anyone to know. It’s telling people that I love I stole from them when they weren’t looking. It’s fucking up so many times that they won’t pick up when I call them. It’s watching people die because they got back in it, and knowing that I don’t have any say in it. It’s watching people die, and knowing I don’t get any say.

Sep 19th 2014
Source: iraffiruse







Frozach Submitted

Wtf did I just read

I can’t believe I actually read that whole thing.

I found it again beautiful

IT CAME BACK! the last time i saw this was long long ago

I really wanna know the end.

There is no end.

mine is considered dirty blonde.

mine is considered dirty blonde.

Well I don’t know, I mean what looks like brown hair might actually be considered [dirty] blonde. What looks like dirty blonde might actually be brown hair. Fuck. Tomato Tomato. Quickly! Shoot me! I need to make sure what color comes out!!

Well I don’t know, I mean what looks like brown hair might actually be considered [dirty] blonde. What looks like dirty blonde might actually be brown hair. Fuck. Tomato Tomato. Quickly! Shoot me! I need to make sure what color comes out!!

Sep 19th 2014

PROOF I love my Tumblr Follows

Crack open a can of full-sugar soda. Do not use diet soda. Pour it in a bowl and stir it with your favorite cake mix. Now put that in a well-greased pan and pop it in the oven according to the directions on the box, but first (and people normally fail to mention this,) Be sure to adjust your oven temperature according to your altitude. In school they teach you to read a recipe three times before you do anything, so if worst case scenario you’ve already poured things together and need to get this right, add a couple dollops more of soda depending on your elevation. Viola! You get easily-made, virtually fat-free cake.

Don’t feel bad if you mess up the first time, or if it doesn’t come out perfectly. This is bound to happen with some things in the kitchen and I know I’ve made my fair share of dead-end complete mistakes.

You should try different combinations between lemon, orange, cherry, grape, and strawberry soda between yellow, chocolate, and vanilla flavored box mixes. And by the way, this also works with the vegan boxed stuff.

Sep 19th 2014
Source: gyclli

ice cream blooms
a scoop of roses

for you♥


ice cream blooms

a scoop of roses

for you♥

Sep 19th 2014

The Full-frontal 2-by-4.

After an hour and a half, my phone had maintained 1% battery life. Caught bored at the college bus station, my dad surprised me with a call.

After catching him up on my progress, I asked him if he was writing lately. Every day, he said. I asked if it was a sci-fi this time. “Just a drama” responded. Then he asked if Brian and I were getting along better now. “In fact it seems we are. We had a long conversation after I worked last night, and he seems excited for me to try ayahuasca.” What’s that, he asked uneasily. “Ohh, it’s mostly DMT, you know.” My dad didn’t sound like he was entirely okay until I started reassuring him of Brian’s extensive trustworthiness on the subject. “Chemically, ayahuasca is very good for the brain. DMT alone is about the same way, but—”

My phone was dead. “Shit.”

My dad never grew up with his father at all. Estranged with fundamentalist Christianity instead, his preacher stepfather put him through a lot of physical, emotional, and mental abuse. He sought escapism in comic books, tv shows, pr0n from Brian when they were younger, video games, and namely anything Science Fiction, which mainly pertained to Star Wars, and Blade Runner up until about the year I was born. Decades of his life were lost to the esoteric discipline he was raised with. Pleasure was a mostly foreign thing to his mind. Hedonism was the devil conceptualized.

He woke up during a trip to Japan when he heard the story of Hachiko the dog. Basically, he realized that mankind was the dog, the scientist was the second coming, and that psychological masochism had been in season since the Baroque era. What was he doing? Modern day meant all things could be found in the realm of possibility.

Still, he was the case that coined the term for the disorder, “Religious Trauma Syndrome” with his therapist a few years ago. When a religious reality is beaten into you, it has great potential to continuously torture you in ways that you might not ever fully get a handle on, if you’re not careful. Maybe it isn’t cyclically abusive or unstoppable, but dogma is a force to be reckoned with. It’s affected every facet of our culture.

I certainly saw how the abuse he’d endured had affected his self-esteem, and he provided good support once I left private grade school for public high school.

Physical abuse was always a central aspect of the breed of private religious schooling that I grew up with. My dad experienced it. I think my mother and her 6 siblings definitely experienced it. When Corporal Punishment first started getting outlawed in the 70s and 80s, (with fucking New Mexico coming in 50th place by 2011,) schooling systems across the board started replacing the measure with a utilization of psychological abuse instead. To make it simple for the reader, teachers who are best described as sadistic are still getting hired.


Psychological education teaches us that any kind of physical abuse, physical punishment or even merely spanking children can create bullies. From this, one might imagine how frustrated it makes me feel in every attempt to describe how difficult it has been to deprogram the SHIT that I had forced down my throat for the first half of my god forsaken life. I ask that you please don’t bother in telling me of my shortcomings, because I know it’s with myself where the any of my issues may initially sprout and I never let myself forget. This is why giving me personal shit buys you a one way ticket to hell, because due to where it is exactly that I’m coming from, giving me shit inherently will also give away the flaw in your thinking, and you’ll probably miss out on the patience I could have otherwise had for you in those moments.

So come on. Hit me, you coward.

The only person who could understand this about me was Matt.

Matt actually found god by himself. He made me realize how I did and didn’t care for religious people after I left private school. But what we had in common was that we both tried to be good people, and we left it our friendship at that.

I gingerly rolled down the sidewalk on his skateboard in front of our school with the speed of less than half a mile an hour.


Matt convinced me life was only really lived when you were learning something.

Being “poor” had its ups and downs. I rarely asked my mom for money since I figured I should just miraculously have the confidence and know-how to turn the plethora of otherwise inedible ingredients stocked in our pantry into food, so whenever Matt would mistakenly ask if I had any money, I would search my duck tape wallet to count my cash down to the exact change even if it only seemed to be 37 cents. “I have … 58 cents!”

"Wait I think I have a few quarters, too. Let’s go get a taco."

Almost every day after school he’d take his board to 7-11, and sometimes I’d skip along.

We were like mini mall rats. “Matt, get this for me. It’s only 50 cents.” Matt doesn’t respond. “Matt, can you get this for me?” Silence. I am following him through the candy section as I’m asking for an almond joy. “Matt, please? It’s only 50 cents. Matt? Matt?”

"Hold on hold on hold on," he almost mutters.

"Here, hold on a sec."

He takes my almond joy and puts on his heavy trademark jacket, adjusting his sleeves. He has made the almond joy disappear entirely. All of this in the front of the store. Matt was a blonde gypsy bear.

Between girls, he confessed he genuinely loved me in an intimate sort of way, but I refused to be his girlfriend because he refused to have intercourse with anyone outside the bounds of marriage. I was totally willing to overlook his physical fluffiness, unlike some others. But treating sex like it was gross or sinful would forge a disconnection with me in my mind over time, and I knew it. Sex was natural. I could hold back, but not for a decade until marriage or some morbidly ridiculous shit like that of which no one is really capable.

Still, I didn’t let him fade away and he remained my platonic friend after that, even. I sorta think he was just that good of a friend. It could also be that I somehow properly convinced him that I wasn’t worth it. He moved on to other girls he also cared for deeply who caused his discipline to crumble even more than it already had, but I’m not sure he ever lost his virginity. Honestly, I don’t care if he has because truly not my business. But I feel more confident that he’s in a mentally healthy place if he has.

Looking back there’s something still haunting me about what happened between us. It’s sad, because people like him have almost never happened to me other than him. After everything I’ve written here, it could be terrifying to someone how religion has kept concepts like virginity sacred and henceforth torn people apart in various manners. For one thing, I know the same thing happened to Birdman and his girlfriend that happened to Matt and I. But with Birdman, things got way too far since his girl probably thought she could change him. I think what I’m truly terrified about all of this is how the subversive fear-mongering of religion can brainwash someone to be very different from what they otherwise would be. It makes me think of malformed faces in The Wall. Because this is what Matt said to me:

"It’s just you, Camille.”

Sep 18th 2014

Myself: *playfully connects dots like a three year old*
Myself: this one looks like a dinosaur.
Myself: *continues*
Myself: and this one looks like a marriage..
Myself: *continues*
Myself: and this one looks like an astronaut…
Myself: *continues*

Sep 18th 2014

Vangelis - Blade Runner Blues ZMiX

Sep 18th 2014
Source: yesthrill
Sep 18th 2014
Sep 18th 2014
Source: peacephoto
Sep 18th 2014
Source: oula5555

worteinbildern na We Heart It.


worteinbildern na We Heart It.

Sep 18th 2014

Part Two.

The freakout purely stemmed from the leftover dogma that asserts itself throughout our lives. We break and bend ourselves into a certain shape so that we can get what we otherwise would have needed from each other were we not bent and broken. This is done instead of taking the time to accept and understand how people actually are in their natural element. My realization about this made me feel worthless, anxious, and depressed. Nothing made any sense anymore. I couldn’t ever be certain of what I was seeing in anyone, and even for an introvert, people are basically my life and it’s kinda stuck that way because that’s just what Capitalism and my mother have demanded of me.

I eventually went on to date the person who accidentally sent me into that episode of existential madness. And I would say that it was in fact something that he did, albeit on accident, because he was such an extreme person that the mere act of liking him forced me into isolation because I had to defend his honor. There was no one who agreed that he was a likable person, or if they could they didn’t care. Other than that, he certainly ignored me in shyness and disbelief. But it turned out that he was an existentialist of some sort as well, and we somehow became connected from that even though I’d never had the concentration to read every bit of Beyond Good and Evil. I already understood a lot of those concepts rather a little too well. I will knowingly ignore them sometimes.

Less than a month after my first decision about not wanting to exist, I hooked up with the guy. I would say how I did it was desperate and somewhat lacking in virtue, but I was terribly alone and anyway so was he. Although I’m not proud of it, there’s a point where everything’s done out of self-preservation when you’re starved for connection. Thinking about whether a relationship is good for anyone anymore becomes a moot question. And besides, I guess they were only shrooms. …Funnily enough, Trent asked me to prom soon afterwards, and while I was surprised by the age difference I declined because I figured I had a date with the other guy. And no, for the record I will never let him live that down. Lol.

This person totally turned out to be how you wouldn’t expect. Take all of your ideas of this existentialist, and throw em down the garbage disposal. He’s a rat. He’s a devious, devious, backstab bildgerat. And not in the way Eviana was to Skippy, wherein his relationship with her, she altogether went back and forth between confidently telling him to his face that she’d secretly hated him all along… maybe 4 times in a row. I grew up with a fancy shit private schooling system that was constantly under construction, where I was both piled in with the inescapable snobbery and was forced to deal with the same thing -and more- that Skippy did with Eviana for my entire childhood, but let’s not digress.

That bloke Lance I’ve talked about a few times who in the end expressed a sense of dishonor to my personal boundaries … He did teach me why nonconformity was normally a good thing. You wouldn’t know it now, but cuz of him I could spit at your feet and successfully argue that I was in fact aiming for the ground and not the feet that were arrogantly standing there. The chealsea-kid who somewhat liked philosophy was no exception to this ideology. He found every inappropriate way to express himself … from exhibitionism to quoting offensive tv shows with a megaphone … … Tino the notorious school security guard took the megaphone away after that.

So fuckin’ totally worth it..

Soon enough, I began to find his aggressive arrogance to be a bit toxic to everyone around him. I remained silent for the majority of the relationship with him, observing he and his friends with a curiosity for how regular kids were supposed to act like, since he didn’t compartmentalize himself anywhere near the “black bandana gang” that I’d belonged to with the punks like Lance before most of them graduated. After breaking up with him, I moved on as fast as I could, but time went on. Things happened. We remained connected with friends, and in the end we could not escape how we had remained on a similar playing field that we somehow shared.

Remember … down the garbage disposal …

A few years later I got back together with him in a flurry, and the whole thing was rather romantic and I daresay a bit sexy, even. But the whole thing came to a halt when we started to divulge the “innermost crazy”  perhaps a bit too soon. I personally don’t become very well understood until a lot of talking has come to pass, and trying to sum it up here only reminds me of how seriously I almost never really wish to be taken with such things. Personal meaning is something the imagination finds the wings for, but those wings are hard to share with outside of actual experience with friends unless tangible labels are used. And everyone has their subjectively good and bad associations with most labels, don’t they?

Hopelessly romantic writers. Hopelessly dreaming poets.

Attractive men with shaved heads. Attractive women collecting tattoos.

Actors. Psychology majors.


The entire thing was surefire eclipsed by a moment where we were having sex in the corner of his room and he began to choke me without any warning. I was offended and scared that he hadn’t asked me if that was okay, or wanted, and I immediately became reminded that his mother did something to him when he was young. But I couldn’t remember what. I stopped him from what he was doing and asked him about what she did. He had an unchanging angry look in his eyes the whole time.

"My mom choked me when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade."


And he started telling me the story again.

I guess this little factoid had slipped his mind in the moment, because knowing him he was probably a little offended at himself in a way that was embarrassing to admit. He wasn’t a morally bankrupt character, just flawed. But what hadn’t slipped my mind was that my last affair had resulted in the same thing- a man suddenly choking me without any warning in the middle of sex. The weird thing is, that guy isn’t morally bankrupt or even really sexist either! It makes me cringe that the first time it happened, I had to remind the guy a few times that I wasn’t into that, and yet by the third or second time it was happening, I was trying to like it. I thought: WELL FUCK. I guess I’m into what’s going on already, aren’t I??

Spoiler Alert: This isn’t the kind of shit you want women to put with.

(Believe me I’m sick of using ‘spoiler alert’ in my writing, but I felt the need to put it there as a last resort.)

The affair with the existentialist soon ended, because amongst a few other things that happened, that was not okay. And then my next affair involved a man that was noticeably dissatisfied and unhappy that I was not going to let him choke me. The next man after that told me his last girlfriend from a few years ago asked him to choke her a couple times, but knowing him from the tone of his voice, I could hear that he was ashamed to have even grown comfortable with the fetish … because on some level it communicated that he was still okay with it for having done it in the first place. On some level, he still liked it.

Ew. All of this amidst having someone get on top of me without verbal consent during the time spent after dating that existentialist the first and second time. And then not getting off of me when I asked …until I could bait him with picking his mother up from work since we were late in doing so.

What’s marvelously entertaining is that there are some men out there who think I’m doing something to accidentally target these men. No. These men are everywhere because of 50 Shades. 50 shades of grey has had a monumental impact on sexual culture in the US. You can bet your ass on it. An it’s disturbing that I would even be chastised for going through so many guys since this is one of the major reasons why I’ve been single and hopelessly flirtatious for an entire fucking year. Because people in this culture don’t really get down compared to others, and when you’re left with the anti-social (-classic use of the phrase-) sexual deviants as the majority of people who even have sex at all, I’m actually left to wonder if I could find myself in a genuinely romantic relationship where I feel safe having a man choke me. And I probably shouldn’t begin to wonder that. But I have.