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schizoid

The emotions of the emotionally aloof.

You have been called selfish for the courage of acting on your own judgement and bearing sole responsibility for your own life. You have been called arrogant for your independent mind. You have been called cruel for your unyielding integrity. You have been called anti social for the vision that made you venture upon undiscovered roads.

- Ayn Rand (via haereticum)
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haereticum:

Regina Spektor | Ballad of a Politician

(Source: strangeandunproductivethinking)

Silence is only frightening to people who are compulsively verbalizing.

- William S. Burroughs, The Job: Interviews with William S. Burroughs (via honeyforthehomeless)

(via haereticum)

You’re obliged to pretend respect for people and institutions you think absurd. You live attached in a cowardly fashion to moral and social conventions you despise, condemn, and know lack all foundation. It is that permanent contradiction between your ideas and desires and all the dead formalities and vain pretenses of your civilization which makes you sad, troubled and unbalanced. In that intolerable conflict you lose all joy of life and all feeling of personality, because at every moment they suppress and restrain and check the free play of your powers. That’s the poisoned and mortal wound of the civilized world.

- The Torture Garden, Octave Mirbeau  (via leichenschrei)

(Source: youngsoulrebel, via leichenschrei)


(Source: serialstranger)


(Source: serialstranger)

Lonesome’s a whole other thing. Incurable. Terminal. A hole in your heart you could drive a semi truck through. So big and so deep that no amount of money or whiskey or pussy or dope in the whole goddamn world can fill it up because you dug it yourself and you’re digging it still, one lie, one disappointment, one broken promise at a time.

- Steve Earle, I’ll Never Get Out of This World Alive (via serialstranger)
honeyforthehomeless: Charles Bukowski

honeyforthehomeless:

Charles Bukowski


(Source: serialstranger)


(Source: serialstranger)

Maybe I shouldn’t write this.
I’m drunk.

Maybe no one will understand.
Maybe no one will complete me.
Maybe I’ll always be alone.

There’s no point in leaving.
There’s nothing better,
And something’s better than
nothing.

I’m drunk.
Don’t listen to me.

there is something wrong with me
besides
melancholia.

- Charles Bukowski (via haereticum)

(Source: leilockheart, via leichenschrei)

honeyforthehomeless: Charles Bukowski

honeyforthehomeless:

Charles Bukowski

Balloons

I saw too many faces today

faces like balloons.

at times I felt like
lifting the skin
and asking,
“anybody under there?”

there are medical terms for
fear of height
for
fear of
enclosed spaces.

there are medical terms for
any number of
maladies

so
there must be a medical term
for:
“too many people.”

I’ve been stricken with
this malady
all my life:
there has always been
“too many people.”

I saw too many faces
today, hundreds of
them

with eyes, ears, lips,
mouths, chins and so
forth

and
I’ve been alone
for several hours
now

and
I feel that I am
recovering.

which is the good part
but the problem
remains
that I know I’m going to
have to go out there
among them
again.

 -Charles Bukowski

(Source: haereticum)

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