When I think of it, I think of a room... where you can't open a window. Where there is no window. Every day you wake up and the room is smaller. You don't notice, not at first. It happens slowly. In inches. Then one morning, you open your eyes... and the room is so small... you can't move.
You can't take a breath.
You have to get out. You can't think of anything else.
Zelda Fitzgerald was diagnosed as a schizophrenic. She was hospitalized after a nervous collapse in 1930, and spent the rest of her life in sanatoriums.
Zelda Fitzgerald died in a hospital fire in 1948. It was the 1960s before her writing began to be studied seriously and she began to emerge a bit from the shadow of her more famous husband.
/plagiarism
my grandmother says i look like agyptian pharaoh queen, and audrey hepburn ///haha!
my grandmother is visiting me, she was afraid to travel here by train (2h)
she will bring treasures, and i hope she will like my apartment
we’ll walk, drink coffee and talk about boys and watch pretty little liars
lately i had some visits, but V was my favourite visitor
(because you will read this, goodmorning!)
“ο ηθικος ανθρωπος δεν ευρισκεται πιο κοντα στο νοητο κοσμο απο το φυσικο ανθρωπο - γιατι απλως ο νοητος κοσμος δεν υπαρχει”
/μεταξιωση ολων των αξιων
congratulations on your ability to create drama out of absolutely nothing!
note to me
i am twenty!
i have these new bruises on my arms, on the left one,on the right one, and they are friends
one on 14th(left), and 21st (right)
it is sad
coffee broken on the floor and sketched but
the
dry drops are beautiful
i have new alarm sound too, drilling from neighbors above
i have a new friend, he tells me all the hollywood gossips
page 6 conversations daily
i have no money to PAY YOU F***** VODA
i had chinese vegetables dinner at 3:17,i was dizzy
i watched prettylittleliars 4 ep. /liked
ciao! wednesday
“in his search of sensations that would be at once new and delightful, and possess that element of strangeness that is so essential to romance”
“there are few of us who have not sometimes wakened before dawn, either after one of those dreamless nights that make us almost enamoured of death, or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy” oscar wilde’s text
which i represent as “there are few of us who have not sometimes wakened before dawn, either after one of those dreamless nights that make us almost enchanted of death, or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy”
“she said she needed a job for her self-respect. so she started selling multiple vitamins door to door” /short story called vitamins
“she said she had this headache that was so bad it was like somebody was sticking wires in her brain. she said it was such a bad headache she was afraid it was going to leave her with a permanent squint.” /bought it today 3,3E, short stories, while listenning to ‘drilling’ concert from above
OH OH OH the story is as following
rocky horror picture show tracks and dancing and then it crashed me
does anyone watching me doing the silly acts through the window ?
i looked through the window
and saw the snowman that my neighbor little girl and mom was building in the morning
AND I FREAKED OUT / THRILLER STORIES ABOUT SNOW MONSTERS ANTHROPOMORPHIC
A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that 1,100 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.Three minutes went by, and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace, and stopped for a few seconds, and then hurried up to meet his schedule.A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping, and continued to walk.A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tagged him along, hurried, but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally, the mother pushed hard, and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money, but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the most talented musicians in the world. He had just played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, on a violin worth $3.5 million dollars.Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste, and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be:If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?
(i read it on facebook)
living condition
they aim to search for the top and i am absolutely bored to watch upon it
i prefer to lay down on wooden floor, watch the window
they wish to kick, i hate when they talk
too much so fast and laugh loud
i wish to be kicked
it is sad when you realize that everyone is stronger than you
studying shit and forgetting them but “you wont regret”, repeated “you wont regret”
you won’t regret if you live the next years to feel the ‘i didn’t regret’