they are trying to build god
anna; his life has become a metaphor, a beautiful metaphor but a literary device cannot stop gods and aliens. all it took was one vengeful god with extreme daddy issues and his world could’ve died. pepper could’ve died.
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Summer was here again. Summer, summer, summer. I loved and hated summers. Summers had a logic all on their own and they always brought something out in me. Summer was supposed to be about freedom and youth and no school and possibilities and adventure and exploration. Summer was a book of hope. That’s why I loved and hated summers. Because they made me want to believe.
Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe
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devidsketchbook:

Artist on Tumblr

Silvia Grav | on Tumblr (b.1993, Spain)

Madrid-based photographer Silvia Grav achieves a brilliant, dreamlike aesthetic by appropriating techniques that include superimposition, multiple exposure and solarization. The outcome is a captivatingly dark, surreal exploration and study of subjective interposition. Questions are tacitly posed through her images: How does one interpret? What are the affects of dreams on the unconscious and conscious alike? How does time and thought affect memory? As a result, her photographs tend to function like condensed narrations suspended between empiricism and mental projection. (src. Juxtapoz)

© All images courtesy the artist

[more Silvia Grav | artist found at 2headedsnake]

via: artchipel

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ohmystarsy replied to your photo “(is anyone surprised even)…”

omg I’m crying but yeah I should have expected that

i don’t know how this happened i don’t know when they took over my life

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"…my life, for the most part, has been very stale and colorless. Dead, I mean. The world has always been an empty place to me. I was incapable of enjoying even the simplest things. I felt dead in everything I did.’ He brushed the dirt from his hands. ‘But then it changed,’ he said. ‘The night I killed that man."

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it happened on the jellicoe road. the prettiest road i’d ever seen, where trees made breezy canopies like a tunnel to shangri-la. we were going to the ocean, hundreds of miles away, because i wanted to see the ocean and my father said that it was about time the four of us made that journey. i remember asking, ‘what’s the difference between a trip and a journey?’ and my father said, ‘narnie, my love, when we get there, you’ll understand,’ and that was the last thing he ever said. (listen)

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