People of this generation live for the euphoric. Moments of euphoria, musical euphoria, thrills and chills, euphoria in a bottle or in a drug.
We are no different than the generation that birthed hip hop, the disco or hippies before them or the jazz age before they; actually we are the culmination of them all and it shows.
If they produced some of the most brilliant minds of this day and age, what do you think we are capable of?
Round 2 of Downloads
- Skrillex
- DeadMau5
psst, guess what?
Debt increases by recent U.S Presidents:
Reagan 186%
Bush II 72%
Bush I 54%
Clinton 41%
Obama 23%(Source: Congressional Budget Office)
—————
“So suck on that, Tea Party.”
(Source: me)
(via vicsblank)
(Source: whereisthecoool)
Prose Practice: Story 2
He stood at the echo. It rang loudly in the desperate glum of this shaded home. Taking to the stairs he flew, 2, 4, 6 steps at a time until arriving at the door of the attic. A single slant of fading light sat across the knob from the window behind. The door knob gleamed and begged him inside into the echo or void, to whatever lay beyond.
With a trembling hand buried in sweat he reached for the door that would bring him into the eyes of the echo. But first he listened.
There the record skipped. It was then that he pulled himself in.
(Source: rv2)
Coco Rocha by Craig McDean, 2008
8/10/2011
Listless and corpse like, laying there starring up with empty drunk eyes. How I hated that look, the one that is busy figuring you out. Eyes that are so shallow you can look into them and know what they are and they, only looking at the surface of you.
Disgusting.
Her pale arms were limp at her sides, torso slouched at the wall. Her usually pretty little head was leaning to the side but that gaze was meeting mine. The heave of her chest rose and sank like the steady beat of a drum. Much too quick for a person in their right mind. The tiny navy blue dress was too short. Her brown hair much too long.
She bit her lip a bit. She wanted to fuck.
I wasn’t having that. I stood her up, arm around shoulder then took her into the house. She kept mumbling thank you’s at me, throwing them sloppily and they rang in my ear.
Once at the bed, she fell from arm onto the white sheets. The eyes turned glaring at me and her foot ran the in-seam of my pant leg.
“Please no,” was all I could muster and walked out of the bedroom.
Once outside, I looked up. I was meant for more than this, for more options in life than this. I needed to get outside this town into the world. When you’re young, you’re meant to live and living isn’t sitting still in one place. That’s for when you get old, when you get to be a heroine addict or a family man.
Even with the cold beauty wanting me inside her this night, all I wanted was a warm sun on a cool day in the streets of somewhere 10,000 miles from here. A place to be reborn.
I lit one and sent the ashes to my dream land.
