There’s a part of me screaming. It’s a miniature version of myself, inside my old apartment, inside my ribcage, screaming. There’s no sound, because there’s no one there to hear it; and besides, my body is soundproof.

I’m in Tel Aviv. I’m trapped.

I left; I’m free now.

Take me back to the party. Pass me a joint, a beer, a bobo, a pill, I’ll take whatever you’ve got and love it more than life itself. Play that music loud as fuck and look out the window at people passing by, wishing they were invited. I was invited; I politely decline.

I’m clean now. I’m home free.

Home-free.

open-forum asked: What does the word home mean to you?

Home is where your health care is.

#viola

California was going to be just like a Red Hot Chili Peppers song, but it’s not.

Colette Calascione

(via glennoconnell)

(via thecaffeined)

“That boy’s one mean motherfucker!”

colourthysoul:

F. X. Leyendecker - The Flapper (1922)

LIFE

(via anorpheusrising)

darksilenceinsuburbia:

John O’Connor.

Husky, 2005.Graphite and colored pencil on paper, 78 x 79”.

Mexada, 2004. Graphite and colored pencil on paper, 53 x 82”.

http://johnjoconnor.net/index.php