T-minus two months and counting →

(Source: letterstodeadpeople)

i have ‘how to disappear completely’ looping
looping
it’s difficult
and reminded me of you
in columbinus
and i just wondered
what it does for you
if it’s easier
or difficult too
or just a song

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pleaseaskmenosecrets:

“

There will be time, there will be time
to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
there will be time to murder and create,
and time for all the works and days of hands
that lift and drop a question on your plate;
time for you and time for me,
and time yet for a hundred indecisions,
and for a hundred visions and revisions,
before the taking of a toast and tea.

…

do i dare disturb the universe?
in a minute there is time
for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

…

And I have known the eyes already, known them all - 
the eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
and when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
when I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
then how should I begin
to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

”

—T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

(Source: coitophilic)

"You were last seen walking through a field of pianos. No. A museum of mouths. In the kitchen of a bustling restaurant, cracking eggs and releasing doves. No. Eating glow worms and waltzing past my bedroom. Last seen riding the subway, literally, straddling its metal back, clutching electrical cables as reins. You were wearing a dress made out of envelopes and stamps, this was how you travelled. I was the mannequin in the storefront window you could have sworn moved. The library card in the book you were reading until that dog trotted up and licked your face. The cookie with two fortunes. The one jamming herself through the paper shredder, afraid to talk to you. The beggar. Hat outstretched bumming for more minutes. The phone number on the bathroom stall with no agenda other than a good time. The good time is a picnic on water, or a movie theatre that only plays your childhood home videos and no one hushes when you talk through them. When you play my videos I throw milk duds at the screen during the scenes I watch myself letting you go — lost to the other side of an elevator — your face switching to someone else’s with the swish of a geisha’s fan. My father could have been a travelling salesman. I could have been born on any doorstep. There are 2,469,501 cities in this world, and a lot of doorsteps. Meet me on the boardwalk. I’ll be sure to wear my eyes. Do not forget your face. I could never."

“new york craigslist > personals > missed connections” (via snow-ship)

(Source: clavicola, via snow-ship)

(Source: smellslikesoap, via fuckyeahjgl)