— Shel Silverstein (via onlinecounsellingcollege)
It’s a hell of a thing to know
that once you have to move,
you can never come back again.
That this is the last place you will ever live,
in San Francisco,
that you love and that you’ve given so much to.
Having already chosen a life of semi-austerity
where you skip many modern comforts
like washing machines,
in exchange for the low rumble of Mission Street mornings.
To live like you’re in a perpetual state of being a college student,
in the sense that,
you reside amongst mini generations of other people’s stuff.
Mixed matched spoons and cutlery;
a revolving door of roommates and their things.
Often times no one knows or remembers
where these droplets of ephemera even came from,
but now they are part of the house
and essentially part of your life,
because you can never leave.
Living in San Francisco,
and having rent control,
has become a sort of golden handcuff.
If you ever need to move,
or get evicted,
you have to essentially trade in your San Francisco citizenship.
The Visigoths are at the gates
and will gladly take your place,
thinking that they’ve moved into something special,
they are pushing out the specialness like spin art.
You are the drops of paint that make the color,
but the faster things spin,
all that’s left,
are the streaks showing where you used to be.
Broke-Ass Stuart, ‘Rent Control in San Francisco is a Golden Handcuff’(via bookoisseur)
|Guy:||What do girls do at sleepovers?|
|Me:||Pass the Bechdel test.|
if it’s late enough and you’re lonely enough, the carly rae jepsen lyric “before you came into my life i missed you so bad” starts seeming increasingly deep and emotionally complex
3:02 AM and this fucking lyric looks like fucking nietzsche
stare into the abyss and the abyss will call you maybe
- Satan:[appears]Satan:You can have anything you wan--Me:LANGUAGE.Satan:What?Me:GIVE ME EVERY LANGUAGE.Satan:What the--?Me:YOU SAID ANYTHING. GIVE ME EVERY LANGUAGE IN THE WORLD.... ...
- POETRY TIME! :D :D"Go to the Limits of Your Longing"
by Rainer Marie Rilke
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently...