Feelings suck.

I love sitting in a train. Sure, you can listen to music everywhere but in a train … I don’t know. The way the nature passes and the thoughts begin to flow without even knowing it … it’s something really special. And I love the feeling. Sometimes I think there’s nothing better than sitting in a train and doing nothing but listen to some really good music that breaks your heart.


❝ Sleep tries to seduce me by promising a more reasonable tomorrow. ❞
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Posted 22 hours ago      with 9 notes      ↳↴
❝ I love sleeping to avoid problems. ❞

Matthew Healy, The 1975. (via he4rt-out)

Posted 22 hours ago      with 85,307 notes      ↳↴
❝ the ability to suffer and endure,
that’s nobility, friend.
the ability to suffer and endure
for an idea, a feeling, a way,
that’s art my friend.
the ability to suffer and endure
when love fails,
that’s hell, old friend. ❞

Charles Bukowski, The Creation Coffin (via stxxz)

Posted 3 days ago      with 251 notes      ↳↴
❝ So you want to be a writer. If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it. Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it. If you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don’t do it. If you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it. If you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it. If you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don’t do it. If it’s hard work just thinking about doing it, don’t do it. If you’re trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. If it never does roar out of you, do something else. If you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you’re not ready. Don’t be like so many writers, don’t be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don’t be dull and boring and pretentious, don’t be consumed with self- love. The libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. Don’t add to that. Don’t do it. Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it. Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it. When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. There is no other way. And there never was. ❞

Charles Bukowski (via sunst0ne)

Posted 3 days ago      with 202 notes      ↳↴
❝ There is no poetry, just pain. ❞

The Art of Missing Someone (May 2, 2014)

(Source: power-donuts)

Posted 4 days ago      with 3,511 notes      ↳↴