FC

secfromdisaster:

Late 1970s - early 1980s:

Hip-hop culture, New York

(via crookedlookingglass)

wavy-spice:

Please do not get all hype and cocky because someone says you look good, appreciate it. But your mind man, your mind is way more valuable

(via gira-soul)

lwedgal:

Everything’s a memory
With strings that tie to you.

In my dream I’m often running
To the place that’s out of you.

hindikitty:

Amelie has no boyfriend. She’s tried once or twice, but the results were a let down. Instead, she cultivates a taste for small pleasures: dipping her hand into sacks of grain, cracking creme brulee with a teaspoon, and skipping stones at St. Martin’s canal.

—Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Le Fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain

(Source: cherryraspa, via valgua)

(via thewastedgeneration)

(Source: talkingoutsoft, via avenue)

I don’t mind getting naked or seeing you naked. I don’t mind talking about sex or having sex or never having sex. I don’t mind my body or your body with mine. I don’t mind your sweaty palms, your chapped lips, your dirty tongue. I don’t mind your noisy music, your crappy poetry, your soiled shoes and ugly handwriting. I don’t mind 2ams and late night phone calls, stolen kisses and white lies. I don’t mind your half-eaten donut, frozen teabags and sticky hair. I want your toothbrush’s head leaning towards mine. I want your 4am back massage. Cup my breasts and don’t say they’re small. I already know that. Kiss me once and kiss me more. Pretend what we’re doing is illegal. It’s always good to be caught with our mouths tied together like handcuffs. Dry your cheeks and make me bleed. Crave me. Crave me. Crave me.

valgua:

I watched the sun crawl across the sky.

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