in matters of opinion lovers are insane

our-nbhd:

sweater weather (vintage french pop) x scott bradlee & postmodern jukebox 

lushwig-fittgenstein:

fairdig:

little-trouble-grrrl:

Christina Hendricks in her 90s teen goth days

I know there’s plenty of people who want to smooch Joan Holloway, but I just wanna grab a coffee with Christina Hendricks and listen to some Sisters of Mercy.

i literally just yelled “i know you’re doing something but this is important” to get my housemate over to the computer so we could sit in front of this together and go “oh SHIT. what a look WHAT A LOOK STRONG YES STRONG LOOK YES”

lushwig-fittgenstein:

fairdig:

little-trouble-grrrl:

Christina Hendricks in her 90s teen goth days

I know there’s plenty of people who want to smooch Joan Holloway, but I just wanna grab a coffee with Christina Hendricks and listen to some Sisters of Mercy.

i literally just yelled “i know you’re doing something but this is important” to get my housemate over to the computer so we could sit in front of this together and go “oh SHIT. what a look WHAT A LOOK STRONG YES STRONG LOOK YES”

and-other-stories:

Co-lab collection by Lykke Li - in stores and online September 4.

and-other-stories:

Co-lab collection by Lykke Li - in stores and online September 4.

"He awoke each morning with the desire to do right, to be a good and meaningful person, to be, as simple as it sounded and as impossible as it actually was, happy. And during the course of each day his heart would descend from his chest into his stomach. By early afternoon he was overcome by the feeling that nothing was right, or nothing was right for him, and by the desire to be alone. By evening he was fulfilled: alone in the magnitude of his grief, alone in his aimless guilt, alone even in his loneliness. I am not sad, he would repeat to himself over and over, I am not sad. As if he might one day convince himself. Or fool himself. Or convince others—the only thing worse than being sad is for others to know that you are sad. I am not sad. I am not sad. Because his life had unlimited potential for happiness, insofar as it was an empty white room. He would fall asleep with his heart at the foot of his bed, like some domesticated animal that was no part of him at all. And each morning he would wake with it again in the cupboard of his rib cage, having become a little heavier, a little weaker, but still pumping. And by the midafternoon he was again overcome with the desire to be somewhere else, someone else, someone else somewhere else. I am not sad."
- Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated (via living-my-life-recklessly)

yourejustanotherversionofme:

yourejustanotherversionofme:

Let’s talk briefly about how gay Hallie was for tie-dye tomboy with the cool hair.

Hella.

THIS HAD 15 NOTES WHEN I WENT TO SHOWER AN HOUR AGO

russiancohle:

everyone was making these posts, so i gave in too

@theme