we'll float on maybe, would you understand?

January 27, 2011 9:57 am
"

Derrúmbame el pasado

Endúlzame el destino

Desespérame ahora

Urgente desenrrédame

Delírame fugaz y eterna

Infúndeme el deseo

De llorar a mares

Pero no me hagas caso

Nunca me hagas caso.

"

Samira (mural de Valparaíso)
September 19, 2010 11:34 pm
"Don’t you get it? Nothing sticks. That’s my whole problem. Rafe leaves the room for five minutes, and I’m convinced he’s never coming back. And that’s how it is for me with everything. Nothing is real to me unless it’s right in front of me."

Elizabeth Wurtzel (via thechocolatebrigade)
11:33 pm
"When I was a girl, my life was music that was always getting louder. Everything moved me. I spent my life learning to feel less. Every day I felt less. Is that growing old? Or is it something worse?"

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Jonathan Safran Foer
(via thechocolatebrigade)
September 12, 2010 12:14 am
"me está dando pena esta canción que sólo era un recuerdo"
August 12, 2010 11:35 am
"Mi papá me dijo en una parrilla “Malena, te vas a quedar sola…. sola como loca mala” yo le dije “son puntos de vista, pa"

del blog de La Loca de Mierda (tuconcheta.blogspot.com)
11:25 am 11:15 am
cohete:

“We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once. The other is when you’re walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.” 

cohete:

“We only write about two feelings: one is the first day of summer when you and all of your friends are standing on the edge of a cliff watching the sun set and being overcome with all of your hopes and dreams at once. The other is when you’re walking alone in the rain and realize you will be alone forever.” 

11:11 am
cohete:

concha de su madre
p1go




(via robot-heart)

cohete:

concha de su madre

p1go

(via robot-heart)

10:38 am 10:38 am
"I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot, of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless nightmare road."

On the road by Jack Kerouac (via thechocolatebrigade)