“Forget stardust—you are iron. Your blood is nothing but ferrous liquid. When you bleed, you reek of rust. It is iron that fills your heart and sits in your veins. And what is iron, really, unless it’s forged?
“Develop a healthy relationship with food. If you’re hungry, eat. If you’re full, don’t eat. Eat vegetables to be good to your body, but eat ice cream to be good to your soul.
Take pictures of yourself frequently. Chronicle your life. Selfies are completely underrated. Even if the pictures are unflattering, keep them anyway. There will always be mountains and cities and buildings, but you will never look the same way as you did in that one moment in time.
Your worth does not depend on how desirable someone finds you. Spend less time in front of the mirror and more time with people who make you feel beautiful.
Close doors. Don’t hold onto things that no longer brings you happiness and do not help you grow as a person. It is okay to walk away from toxic relationships. You are not weak for letting go.
Forgive yourself. We all have something in our pasts that we are ashamed of, but they only weigh us down if we allow them to. Make amends with the old you and work every day to become the person that you’ve always wanted to be.”—Tina Tran, Tips to being a happier you (via exoticwild)
“A life of pain is the pain of life, and you can never escape it — only hope it hides, unknown, in a drawer like a poisonous spider and never comes out again, even though it probably will, in unexpected and horrific fashion, scaring you from being able to comfortably conduct even the most mundane, quotidian tasks.”—Welcome to Nightvale - Episode 8 - The Lights in Radon Canyon (via swallowthecold)
“You can be in a relationship for two years and feel nothing; you can be in a relationship for 2 months and feel everything. Time is not a measure of quality; of infatuation, or of love.”—What my relationships have taught me. (via lozzat)
I asked him how he’d spend the last twenty four hours of his life if the world were coming to an end and he said that he’d break into guitar center and make music for anyone who’d listen. I had never heard an answer like that before. I missed undoubtably loving something that much. “I think you should stick to that. I think in order to be successful in music you have to love it that much.” when I looked over at him he had a blank stare, looking out towards the window.
I am not where he wants to be right now.
It reminded me of a cashier the day before who sold me cigarettes and asked me if I shared my soul with anyone. I laughed. “you mean a soulmate?” “no. the one who’s soul is intertwined with yours, not compatible with yours—there’s a difference.” I told him that whatever is left of my soul is reserved for me and that I can’t afford to lose any more of it. he told me to stop smoking cigarettes because our fate was decided 40 days after conception and that whomever shares my soul could probably feel the burning deterioration of mine. they’d have to work harder to fill the empty spaces I burn inside me. I tried not to cry on my way home until I remembered that there are greater loves than this. the kind that would know what to do with my empty spaces. the kind you’d spend the last twenty four hours of the world with.
He’s a melodic soulmate who thinks he can read minds but he doesn’t know I think like bad poetry. He doesn’t know my mind is a poem I read on the wall of a bathroom stall that left me in a trance all day when he traces his fingertips against mine because he remembers I did this once and our bodies lit up in dark field that I still like to pretend is part of my home. He is a poet of contemporary sound and I am a colossal mess of cheap metaphors and slow sighs between moments of silence. He thinks he can read minds but he doesn’t know I think like old battle wounds might. He doesn’t know my mind is an old disc I found tucked away between pages in a book labelled “shit I don’t need anymore”. I like myself best smelling rain before the storm. I like myself best putting a book down just before the climax because the journey’s more than I’ve ever needed these days. More often than not, the best is only the beginning of the end.
One: Buy condoms. Buy them and keep them with you at all times, and use them before you are asked to use them. And use them every time. The peace of mind you allow your partner will free her to be vulnerable with you, and that, my son, is exactly what sex is about. Condoms are sexy. In fact, call buying condoms foreplay.
(Footnote: If you are too embarrassed to buy condoms, you are not ready to have sex.)
Two: Kissing is not merely foreplay. Spend entire evenings making out on the couch while fully clothed. Believe me, dry-humping rocks.
Three: Sex is not just about friction. It’s about emotion. Stop trying to find her clitoris and find her heart. Because then she’ll help you find her clitoris.
Four: If you really wanna know how to please a woman, ask her how she masturbates. Then do that. A lot. If she claims she doesn’t masturbate, offer to take her shopping for a vibrator so you can both learn the vocabulary of her body together.
Five: Don’t put anything in her butthole you wouldn’t want in your own.
(Footnote: Try a pinky finger, it’s kinda awesome.)
Six: When you go down on her—and you will go down on her, and if you are my son, you will be amazing at it—tell her how good she tastes. Stop in the middle and kiss her deeply so she knows how good she tastes. Do the same when she goes down on you.
Seven: A simple Google search will yield 1,327 euphemisms for male masturbation, yet only 23 for female masturbation. If guys spent less time jacking off and more time jilling off, this world would be a happier place.
Eight: Everything you need to know about the importance of the clitoris is in the movie Star Wars. You are Luke Skywalker piloting your penis-shaped X-Wing Fighter deep inside her trench. Remember: seventy percent of all Death Stars cannot be blown up through penetration of the trench alone. It must be through focused contact with that little exhaust port at the top of the trench. Otherwise, any explosions you experience will be merely Hollywood special effects.
Nine: Just because you come doesn’t mean she has, so don’t you dare come before her. Focus completely on your partner. Don’t worry about gettin’ yours, you’re a guy. You always get yours. Your job is to make sure she’s gettin’ hers.
Ten: If sex with your partner lasts no longer than this poem, you are not making love. You are masturbating with her body instead of your hand. Shame on you. Go back to step one. You’ve got a lot of learning to do.