I can believe things that are true and things that aren’t true and I can believe things where nobody knows if they’re true or not.
I can believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and the Beatles and Marilyn Monroe and Elvis and Mister Ed. Listen - I believe that people are perfectable, that knowledge is infinite, that the world is run by secret banking cartels and is visited by aliens on a regular basis, nice ones that look like wrinkled lemurs and bad ones who mutilate cattle and want our water and our women.
I believe that the future sucks and I believe that the future rocks and I believe that one day White Buffalo Woman is going to come back and kick everyone’s ass. I believe that all men are just overgrown boys with deep problems communicating and that the decline in good sex in America is coincident with the decline in drive-in movie theaters from state to state.
I believe that all politicians are unprincipled crooks and I still believe that they are better than the alternative. I believe that California is going to sink into the sea when the big one comes, while Florida is going to dissolve into madness and alligators and toxic waste.
I believe that antibacterial soap is destroying our resistance to dirt and disease so that one day we’ll all be wiped out by the common cold like martians in War of the Worlds.
I believe that the greatest poets of the last century were Edith Sitwell and Don Marquis, that jade is dried dragon sperm, and that thousands of years ago in a former life I was a one-armed Siberian shaman.
I believe that mankind’s destiny lies in the stars. I believe that candy really did taste better when I was a kid, that it’s aerodynamically impossible for a bumble bee to fly, that light is a wave and a particle, that there’s a cat in a box somewhere who’s alive and dead at the same time (although if they don’t ever open the box to feed it it’ll eventually just be two different kinds of dead), and that there are stars in the universe billions of years older than the universe itself.
I believe in a personal god who cares about me and worries and oversees everything I do. I believe in an impersonal god who set the universe in motion and went off to hang with her girlfriends and doesn’t even know that I’m alive. I believe in an empty and godless universe of causal chaos, background noise, and sheer blind luck.
I believe that anyone who says sex is overrated just hasn’t done it properly. I believe that anyone who claims to know what’s going on will lie about the little things too.
I believe in absolute honesty and sensible social lies. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, a baby’s right to live, that while all human life is sacred there’s nothing wrong with the death penalty if you can trust the legal system implicitly, and that no one but a moron would ever trust the legal system.
I believe that life is a game, that life is a cruel joke, and that life is what happens when you’re alive and that you might as well lie back and enjoy it.
it may just be me but, i love listening to music that i used to be obsessed with to remind me of how i felt during that time period. it brings stuff back.
I can’t stand to think about
A heart so big that it hurts like hell,
Oh my God I gave my best
For three whole years to end like this
Do you want to fall apart?
I can’t stop if you can’t start
Do you want to fall apart?
Well I could if you can’t
Try to fix what I’ve undone
Cause I hate what I’ve become
You know me, or you think you do
You just don’t seem to see
I’ve been waiting all this time to be
Something I can’t define
So let’s cause a scene
Clap our hands and stomp our feet
Or something, yeah, something
I’ve just got to get myself over me
“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.”—Anais Nin (via littlemiss)
This song is way too good. Probably my favorite of the moment.
Are you moving much too fast? And the good times that just don’t last If you’re always on the go Make an angel in the snow And freeze
Do you feel like you’re stuck in time? Forever waiting on that line If nothing ever moves Put that needle to the groove And sing
Is it a dream keeping you awake? Is it the stillness that makes you shake? If you need to know for sure What’s on the ocean’s floor You’ll sink
Do you like things the way they seem? Or are you looking behind the scenes? Well, if you’ve gotta know What it takes to make it sow Just believe
Are there dark parts to your mind? Hidden secrets left behind? Where no one ever goes But everybody knows It’s all right
Do you get dizzy on the ground? It must be something going ‘round What blows us here today It’ll blow us all away, The breeze Ahh, will blow us all away The breeze Ahh, will blow us all away The breeze
This is how it works
You’re young until you’re not
You love until you don’t
You try until you can’t
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath
No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else’s heart
Pumping someone else’s blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don’t get harmed
But even if it does
You’ll just do it all again
“Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”—Kurt Vonnegut
“But I hear only your voice, your voice
soars with the zing and precision of an arrow,
it drops with the gravity of rain,
your voice scatters the highest swords
and returns with its cargo of violets:
it accompanies me through the sky.”—Pablo Neruda
“I will not play tug o’ war. I’d rather play hug o’ war. Where everyone hugs instead of tugs, Where everyone giggles and rolls on the rug, Where everyone kisses, and everyone grins, and everyone cuddles, and everyone wins.”—Shel Sylverstein
“Draw a crazy picture,
Write a nutty poem,
Sing a mumble-grumble song,
Whistle through your comb.
Do a loony-goony dance
‘Cross the kitchen floor,
Put something silly in the world
That ain’t been there before.”—Shel Sylverstein
“Still and all, why bother? Here’s my answer. Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone.”—Kurt Vonnegut
“I think your heart grows back bigger you know, once you get the shit beat out of you. And the universe lets your heart expand that way, ‘cause that’s the function of all this pain and heartache that you go through and you gotta go through that to come out to a better place.”—Must Love Dogs
While you are preparing for sleep, brushing your teeth, or riffling through a magazine in bed, the dead of the day are setting out on their journey.
They are moving off in all imaginable directions, each according to his own private belief, and this secret is the secret that silent Lazarus would not reveal: that everyone is right, as it turns out. You go to the place you always thought you would go, the place you kept lit in an alcove in your head.
Some are being shot up a funnel of flashing colors into a zone of light, white as a January sun. Others are standing naked before a forbidding judge who sits with a golden ladder on one side, a coal chute on the other.
Some have already joined the celestial choir and are singing as if they have been doing this forever, while the less inventive find themselves stuck in a big air-conditioned room full of food and chorus girls.
Some are approaching the apartment of the female God, a woman in her forties with short wiry hair and glasses hanging from her neck by a string. With one eye she regards the dead through a hole in her door.
There are those who are squeezing into the bodies of animals—eagles and leopards—and one trying on the skin of a monkey like a tight suit, ready to begin another life in a more simple key,
while others float off into some benign vagueness, little units of energy heading for the ultimate elsewhere.
There are even a few classicists being led to an underworld by a mythological creature with a beard and hooves. He will bring them to the mouth of a furious cave guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.
The rest just lie on their backs in their coffins wishing they could return so they could learn Italian or see the pyramids, or play some gold in a light rain. They wish they could wake in the morning like you and stand at a window examining the winter trees, every branch traced with the ghost writing of snow.
“I later discovered that in order to be a good athlete one must care intensely what is happening with a ball, even if one doesn’t have possession of it. This was ultimately my failure: my inability to work up a passion for the location of balls.”—
Lord, I miss that girl On the day we met the sun was shining down Down on the valley Riddled with horses running Crushing them with flowers I would have picked for her On the day she was born She runs through my veins like a long black river And rattles my cage like a thunderstorm Oh my soul
What does it mean? What does it mean? What does it mean to be so sad? When someone you love Someone you love is supposed to make you happy What do you do How do you keep love alive? When it won’t What, what are the words They use when they know it’s over "We need to talk," or "I’m confused, maybe later you can come over" I would’ve held your mother’s hand On the day you was born She runs through my veins Like a long black river and rattles my cage Like a thunderstorm Oh, my soul What does it mean? What does it mean? What does it mean to be so sad? When someone you love Someone you love is supposed to make you happy What do you do How do you keep love alive? When it won’t How do you keep love alive?