chatarra

xplanes:

“to the drachenfels”, from Flickr user chiesavecchia collection

(Source of the previous post.) »

<@cripwalker> my girlfriend is so fucking cool.
<@cripwalker> we were arguing in IM last night about techtv being lame since g4 took over.
<@cripwalker> she thinks its better now that theres more "pretty" people on it.
<@cripwalker> that filter girl is, like, her idol.
<@cripwalker> anyway, i wasn't giving up. i really believe that channel to be a lost cause, now.
<@cripwalker> so she says to me "i'm gonna come over there and beat some sense in to you"
<@cripwalker> then she logs out.
<@cripwalker> about 10 minutes later, she pulls up in her car, runs into the house, walks in like she owns the damned place, and punches me hard as hell in the arm. no hello, or nothing.
<@cripwalker> then she leaves. didn't even say goodbye. i was totally speechless.
<@cripwalker> sure enough, 10 minutes later she logs back on.
<@cripwalker> she says "i knew you'd see things my way."
<@cripwalker> then she asks if she can come over to watch tv...
<@cripwalker> i'm sooo gonna marry her!

“Great writers are either husbands or lovers. Some writers supply the solid virtues of a husband: reliability, intelligibility, generosity, decency. There are other writers in whom one prizes the gifts of a lover, gifts of temperament rather than of moral goodness. Notoriously, women tolerate qualities in a lover—moodiness, selfishness, unreliability, brutality—that they would never countenance in a husband, in return for excitement, an infusion of intense feeling. In the same way, readers put up with unintelligibility, obsessiveness, painful truths, lies, bad grammar—if, in compensation, the writer allows them to savor rare emotions and dangerous sensations. And, as in life, so in art both are necessary, husbands and lovers. It’s a great pity when one is forced to choose between them.”

—Susan Sontag. (via dailymeh)

fuckyeahbukowski:

(via softerpassions)

“Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

—The Princess Bride (via) (via quotewhore)

livercake:

happiness is, parte 2.

rubendomfer:

15º Festival de Woodstock en la ciudad de Kostrzyn-upon-Odra

“Whatever you give a woman, she’s going to multiply. If you give her sperm, she’ll give you a baby. If you give her a house, she’ll give you a home. If you give her groceries, she’ll give you a meal. If you give her a smile, she’ll give you her heart. She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her. So — if you give her any crap, you will receive a ton of shit.”

—(via)

Tal cual.

egoismo:

<3

virch:

(via flesheatingvirus)

“I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks. I work until I’m tried. I watch the wind play with the trash that’s been under the snow all winter. Everything seems simple until you think about it.”

—Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler’s Wife (via quotewhore)

Está claro que la marea de buenos enlaces sube de madrugada »

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Sólo puedo describir a Antonna como el Juanjo Sáez de la música. Ojo a este disco, con temas que van del bofetón al caramelo envenenado.

“La palabra bien templada en el momento preciso;
la tía puta ni siquiera quiso.
Hay libros de autoayuda que te lo explican todo:
cuándo sacar la lengua, dónde poner los codos,
a partir de cuántas muecas se considera desprecio.
Te pones nervioso y ya no diferencio.
Yo no quiero fijarme en los demás,
sólo puedo hacerlo igual de mal.”

A ratos me recuerda a El Chivi y a ratos a Dorian. Y pese a todo, me mola.

“Huelo tu perfume, eso que te echas, me voy por otra calle, no doy una a derechas.

Pero ahora debe darte igual que yo vaya por la calle percibiendo ese olor que me recuerda que, por bien que huela algo, tú hueles mejor.

Al irme intoxicando, según pasan los días, me olvido de las cosas. Pero no significa que no vaya a acordarme de que, entonces, yo me sabía cualquier conversación, cualquier pequeño gesto que indicara que tenía alguna opción.”

Descubierto lurkeando por el last.fm de Fluzo.

Play count: 18

“You can erase someone from your mind. Getting them out of your heart is another story.”

—Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (via quotewhore)

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you… but it’s still on the list.”

—somewhere on the Internet, via Zeairi

jli:

“The world is too big for love to be real. There are too many people in the world to ever know, beyond everything, that you are with the right person. That your heart is as swollen as it can be. Think of all the people in China. It is unlikely anyone will ever meet all of them. How can we know for certain, that trapped inside a foreign language and thumping in a foreign heart there isn’t a love that is meant for us. The infinite possibility of existence, its limitless potential, is the proof that we need that love is nothing more than an imagination, a human folly, friendship swollen with self-importance, a final retreat from the storm of possibility. The love of our life could so easily have been someone else. It is random and accidental, haphazard and unsystematic. That which we feel for one person, clinging on to the delusion of destiny, could so easily be felt for a million people should the timing and the meetings and the mutual readiness have coalesced at some other time in some other place. Should someone else have accepted us or rejected us then everything would have been different. And once we know this, we know that all love is a lie. Not honesty but deception. Not heroism but cowardice. An unspoken agreement of mutual consolidation and compromise, a shield from possibility and a bed in which to sleep, nothing more than that. But I do still miss her.”

— - The World is Too Big by Daniel Kitson (via pocahaunted)