Brisbane. 18. Lauren.


person: so what have you been up to
me: (speaking very humble) well, I just got some new carpet.. it’s plush…
person: (trying not to sound envious) pl… plush? wow. I hear thats the nicest of all carpets
me: oh it’s nothing..

(via ltalian)

Writers make love to whatever they need.
written by Anaïs Nin, from Henry and June  (via vapourise)

(Source: lifeinpoetry, via amanda-oaks)

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just an fyi, i updated my theme and added more links to my links page, like a playlist of all the music ive reblogged, my writing tag, my diary tag and some other extraneous misc. categories you can sort by!

thanks for listening in, pls enjoy my tumblr dot com while this website slowly ruins my life

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The Ones We Love featured photographer Fred Huening graced our Inbox with this lovely image today. 
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Questions this month I have found impossible to answer:

1. If a cigarette tells you it’s sorry for being poison,
Does it deserve forgiveness?
2. Is the apology necessary? Didn’t you agree to its slow burn the second you sparked the lighter?
3. If so, is the same not true for men?
4. The second you wish for love, don’t you accept the consequences?

Instead of answering these questions: I get high. I begin noticing answers to questions I never asked. What does discovering yourself look like?

1. Half smoked cigarettes resting in the dips of ashtrays, blisters on both ankles from thrifted shoes with broken heels, bush weed, hydro weed, stale weed. Beads of sweat forming on upper lips, games of air hockey that end 7-6, your loss, tangled head phones, half melted frozen cokes, half rusted razors and shirts tied at the midriff. Wearing sunglasses inside, bloodshot eyes. Oxymorons: ‘sober student’, ‘well-adjusted 18 year old’.
2. Adjectives and nouns, sitting together on the table or around it. More ways to describe your friends than you ever thought existed. Learning new words and using them as categories: poète maudit.
3. The politics of pseudo poetry, getting high and writing about it, smoking in broad daylight, being half interested in Dylan, trying to seem cooler than you are. The looming feeling you’ve been lost so long you won’t know what home feels like when you find it.
4. Naming the things that have sat on your bedside table before this moment atomic ghosts.
Like the old versions of you that used to be, they are no longer. Still feeling them weighing heavy on your skin, though they have been long lost to the bin or the sofa. Or in the clean-up from the blood stains on the carpet. The way your heart bleeds without being discerning, makes a mess in the same places it’s overstayed its welcome.
5. Tattoos that read ‘show me a permanent state of self’. Delicious irony.
6. Asking more questions, like:
Did these atomic ghosts feel home at this table,
or did they, too, know it was only for a season?
Did the pain they saw frighten them?
Do they know their presence remains even after they are gone; will mine?
How long until I am a version of myself that knows how to answer questions, instead of always asking? Is six answers to one question really an answer, or does it just show that you have so much more to learn?
7. The determination to find out.

written by Incendiary Questions, Half-Baked Answers, Full-Baked Teenagers