The Simpsons house cutaway.

Four bedroom house with 2 living rooms AND a play room, AND a basement..

On one income? Crazy.

(via dorkvader)

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Comforts of Life

What is the goal of life? A simple list of to-do’s? A bucketlist of checkmarks before death,
a finalized statement,
an imprint of one’s being upon the world?

What is the goal of something so indescribable, if even existing!
What delusion lead us to become such and so, with books to read
just to understand our woes. Who are we? What do we do?
And how do we attract that fulfillment?

Like needy whores, like poor peasants and lifeless rocks,
we clamber and topple, we try to find a new reason, but instead,
like sheep, or fish, or mushrooms, and fungi.
Following in the footsteps, or waterflow of others.

How can things so sublime, unknown, which people have wondered for millennia,
are so easy to answer?

I give you my answer!

Life with no meaning. Am I even living?
Are you living? I know not of a test to prove existence of you,
nor the existence of -I-, like a skeptic on cocaine,
accusing the Sun of godlessness, accusing the drunk of a sober thought.

How can you vouch for your beliefs? Based on what?
How can you deny the possibility our life is just dream stuff?
Nay, worse, a simulation, an experiment, a lie, a medley of non-sense.
A by product of chemical fusion, a taste of chaos and so on.

How can you? When I doubt my thoughts and their origin?
Who is my puppeteer?

Does this give you comfort? No, it is not meant to.

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My Butterfly

A sweet face, upon the brink of change, upon the brink of maturity, upon the brink of blooming into a new set of wings, into the new adulthood chosen.

What cocoon have I create for myself that as a butterfly I crawl in to find a new life, to bring something different into my already existing world. No, I don’t wish to be a caterpillar anymore.

Who has snapped my wings? Was it me or was it you? I need to regrow, so I tear my legs off too and then liquify my body. Giving myself into the promise of something else.

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Le Stef

Le Stef

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Sometimes I wonder what the people on Tumblr are like in real life. Or even people I pass by on the street. I imagine myself being their friend, talking to them, hanging out with them and I’m always lead to a conclusion about that person and about meeting people.

I feel like it’s hard to make friends. I have distinct interests. I have a distinct way of talking to people. And people who seem “friendly” are friendly toward others like them, not toward everyone. This is most visible to me with my old friends and people i contact on facebook.

Why is that? My best friend, a guy I grew up with, used to spend hours hanging out with every day completely disappeared from my life. He’s the “friendliest” person I know out there yet we have nothing in common anymore. I try to talk to him but within a couple minutes he loses interest and so do I.

I’ve tried talking to other people as well and found that one of the only reasons I have some of the friends I do is because we connect on work. That’s it. We have no other shared interests. I wouldn’t have these people in my life if I didn’t work.

This thinking goes on and on. 

Idk. It’s just interesting. 

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Shit, life loses meaning and focus,
there used to be so much on my mind,
but now it’s all gone, just a haze of ideas.

Haze of ideas, haze of dreams,
unclear images of things wished.
What world am I in?
Haze of ideas, haze of reality.

evenings tolerated, days tiring,
A million outlets, I don’t fit one, or any.
even those disappear, and I can’t even wedge myself.

Haze of ideas, haze of dreams,
unclear images of things wished.

Tell me a story, tell me a rhyme,
it’s like a game of fulfillment. 

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There was a time in my life when I would get a phone call at 10pm, throw some shit on and get out.

I’d pile up into the car with a bunch of other people and we’d drive around the city, picking up others, dropping people off, seeing all kinds of cool shit. I explored my entire town. I saw the prettiest lights during christmas, the best coffeeshops to hang out at during winter, the best parks for taking pictures, and abandoned playgrounds where I could climb to my heart’s pleasure. 

I miss those times. Every single one of those people, those fleeting friends are now gone from my life. I’m moved back to that city, I still see the ghetto piercing shop where I almost got my nipples pierced, the tattoo parlor where my friends got their noserings, and the park where we climbed the roofs of pavilions. 

I wonder why it’s so hard to find people like that again or do things like that again.

I used to get home 3 or 4 in the morning, sleep a few hours, hit the gym and go to class just to experience other adventures.

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Whenever I browse Tumblr, I find that just about everything’s the same. Same jokes, same quotes, same replies. It’s a congregation of:

  • "THIS!"
  • picture of a show + text on top quoting it
  • great movie reference! (no tag or description for you to know where the fuck it came from)

idk man.

Then it’s the same shit over and over and over.

Maybe I’m following the wrong people but I’m getting to a point where I’m LOGGING OUT of tumblr wtf, right?

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Waste of Life

I just watched Perks of Being A Wallflower and I connected deeply with it. Every actor’s face resembled one of my friends’ which put me on an interesting train of thought. What HAPPENED to these people? 

They’re gone from my life but that’s really okay, I just wondered. And then I wondered about all the people in our lives. They disappear so easily. Who was that one person so many years ago that I hung out with? No clue. Did they impact my life in a significant way? 

Maybe, maybe not. I’ve met so many significant people that made significant changes to me and yet, I don’t talk to them. They’re gone. And future people? I can’t even see.

I feel like I am completely blind, and alone. And life is taking me for a strange and creepy life. 

The people, though, within my life are very much appreciated. 

Anyways, so I discovered that I am, indeed, disappointed with many things in my life. Thinking of those things lacking, namely people and experiences, put me in a bad mood and remind me so much of certain events and people. Those significant people whose face I can barely remember. 

Sometimes, people stick. Sometimes they really do. You pass them off as people fleeing through the night but then you find yourself fleeing with them. 


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Wake Me Up

Stirring of a beast, slamming of a drum,
welcome to my morning, welcome to my life.

Paper shredded thoughts, severed limbs
There is beauty within, no?

Missed buses, trains, and cars, falling asleep.
Leaving behind, leaving my life. Goodbye.

Drown me in money, drown me in lies.
Drown me in sorrows and cries.
Drown me, drown me, drown me.

I slam my fist, break metal, fluff pillows.
Break my mind, words slicing my heart.

Wishes and looks, the mirror always lies.
Ridicule my beliefs, strip me of my tries.

Darkness gone to replace searing bright light.
Wake up, wake up.

Wake me in the dessert, wake me to breathe soot.
wake me within a star, wake me within death.
Wake me into another dream.


"There is something romantic about killing your body," I once said, wistfully, "There is something passionate and intriguing about the journey of a drug user."

From flaming lips to vampire eyes, from blood sprays to closed eyes,
Who are you? Where am I? Sober gone, give me five seconds to breathe.

A child’s cry, I see myself, hurt pained. I see the dark brooding eyes, 
the full lips of lies, the frail arms become hammers, the smile becomes madness.
The lenses reflect only my own torture.

Is this addiction? Is his violence his addiction? A vice never overcome.
Beat me, beat me, wake me into another dream. Kill me. Blame me.
Flay my flesh, cook my words, twist my fingers, rip my fingernails,
touch me softly, bleed me.

This is no place for me.


Chaos, droplets falling, gingerly resting on blades of grass,
stranger rides into town, all eyes on him, gone form me, from others.
I’m all gone, drift away, blown away.

Dust. Sand. Water.

A scream vanished in a hurricane. 


Wake me up, wake me up, I’m throwing up.

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