• I think everybody's nuts. - Johnny Depp //
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mynameisaun: gnostic-forest: One day, I’m going to bring Laurence along with me to go on a long country train trip. I want to talk about adventures, music and art, I want to drink numerous cups of coffee and tea and enjoy the fresh country air.  ugh i want this
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rneerkat:

whens chip skylarks next tour

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soymiilk: // // ]]>
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petitepasserine: cries loudly this movie man
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flowingstreams: commovente: Don’t Deliver Us From Evil (1971) love riding my bike down my street like this in summer
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blua: Let’s go swimming: Rainbow Pool, Madrid, Spain
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I have buried you in every place I’ve been. You keep ending up in my shaking hands.

— Bon Iver (via fawun)
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When you’re traveling, you are what you are, right there and then. People don’t have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road.

—

William Least-Heat Moon (via wanderforthblog)

Exactly

(via hilittlemisssunshine)

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tylerknott: Typewriter Series #419 by Tyler Knott Gregson Text for Tired Eyes: At this exact instant on this exact planetthere are more people than you, or I, or anyone elsewould ever care to admit, that are buried beneaththe weight of wasted time. The shoulds and supposed tos and becauses and jobsand money and requirements and responsibilitiesadd up and pile up and entomb us.How many miles separate how many peoplefrom the lives they should be leading,the people they should be loving and the momentsthey will never get back?The justification of this frustrationpaints a glossy veneer of happiness over the rustof the truth hiding below it.It’s the realization of our encapsulationthat cracks the paint and lets the color fade.When do we forget the value of what we holdand when do we forget to care about the buryingwe submit ourselves to?Somewhere a much younger version of ourselves is staring into the futureraising tiny fists,  clenched into the airand screaming a wordless warning that falls ondeaf ears that age has stolen sound from.We see ourselves and we see the meaning we’ve assignedto meaningless things;we see the imagination running off the pages we painted,watercolors evaporating and leaving behind only blankcanvas, only dry brushes. Hasn’t the time come to stop this, to put waterto the burning of our futures by the flames of ourpast restrictions?  Has not the time arrived tomix the color in the water and dip the brush,dried an atrophied and lonely from the waiting it toohas endured?Live life like you love to live and make that lifethe one you’ve been waiting for.At this exact instant you and only youcan rise from the layers of wasted time,drive your hand through the sediment andfeel the sunlight on your fingers.
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upgraders:

It’s weird that pirates would go from shore to shore looking for buried treasure when the real treasure was in the friendships they were making

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