who up thinking about stoker (2013) dir. park chan wook

sometimes you just gotta say ya allah kill everyone and move on

everyday you think I can’t do this anymore and the next day you wake up and you do it… fucked up isn’t it?

it’s all over now baby blue

if you have an electric guitar know that I hate you and hope you get robbed

bowen yang is just in too many movies

when you reach that point in depression where you don’t want to prove anything to anyone

I miss seeing logan roy abuse his children on my screen

sometimes it’s just me and my indie pop music from austria against the world

that one telegram admin thats gotta die like they’re ready

taxi driver just made fun of the place i live bro we gotta bring the gulag back

gracie abrams has one good earnest song and she hasn’t released it anywhere

does everyone feel like iran is dead these days like the entire country is in a slumber

my sickest and greediest fantasy is owning two desks so I won’t have to move my notebooks and books when I want to work with my laptop and vice versa.

compiling a list of lesbian movies for every decade and I plan on counting any movie with two girls making eyes at eachother

so major

they need to invent pens that actually write

And I still call home that house in nebraska where we found eachother on a dirty mattress on the second floor while the world was empty save you and I like you came and I left and you left and I cried where you told me even if we die tonight then I die yours

I’d lie to her and say that I’m doing fine when really I’d kill myself to hold you one more time and it hurts to miss you but its worse to know that I’m the reason you won’t come home.

“it’ll pass” “everyone feels this way” “you’ve done so much good” “theres nothing wrong with you” no there is. like there actually is something terribly wrong with me and my entire life has been affected by this and everytime you think I’m doing better I’m actually not I just don’t want to say anything so no one will get spooked by how fucking terrible I’m doing. but I’m bad. like it’s fucking bad. there is something wrong and strange about me that affects everything I touch. there’s no reason to ignore it or lie to me about it. it’s no comfort.