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You sit at the restaurant with your young son, he says he is hungry. You agree to get him dinner. You open up to the kids menu, your child is far to young for adult food. Chicken nugger stares at you from the page. You don’t understand. Your palms get sweaty and your son complains. He says he is hungry. Your mind strains, searching for an answer in a world of sweer potato and french fried. You try to order the chicken nugger, but you cannot. The words cannot escape your lips. Your son is hungry, he complains. The waitress stares at you, her head a spinning chicken nugger, her arms swinging french fried. Your son cries the tears of a chicken nugger-less child. In your mind you scream. It is raining sweer potato now, you have french fried engraved on your left temple and you do not understand. Your son weeps in the corner, he is starving. Starving for the chicken nugger.
Posted on April 28, 2013 via ✰*!breakfast!*✰ with 121,021 notes
Source: asagohan
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Posted on January 7, 2013 via YIMMY'S YAYO™ with 675 notes
Source: yimmyayo
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…the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding” (Four Quartets) -
You shouldn’t let poets lie to you.
Bjork -
ahora contare hasta doce / y tú te callas y me voy
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there was a boy who sat to my left
for twenty mondays in one long spring,
whose face i couldn’t look at, though i tried,
so, his only declaration:
alarm-red shoes in my periphery
(its worn corners i studied well),
and i wish i knew his eyes,
because maybe he wears different shoes now
Posted on September 6, 2012 via with 4 notes
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It’s nice to have someone who deserves this.
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The night my body makes of me were torn
Away from being, and my unbodied shape
Would, like a ship doubling the final cape,
Come to that sight of port and shiver of coming
That God allows to those whose bliss of roaming
Is no more than the wish to find His peace
And mingle with it as a scent with the breeze.Fernando Pessoa
“To One Singing”
in The Mad Fiddler
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Primate brains, because they provided the genome which expressed them a sufficient expected increase in fitness, and because their very design (stochastic neural nets) gave them practically limitless potential for improving their ability to increase fitness, kept evolving themselves bigger and smarter until they got to be complex enough to figure out that
primate brains, because they provided the genome which expressed them a sufficient expected increase in fitness, and because their very design (stochastic neural nets) gave them practically limitless potential for improving their ability to increase fitness, kept evolving themselves bigger and smarter until they got to be complex enough to figure out that
primate brains, because they provided the genome which expressed them a sufficient expected increase in fitness, and because their very design (stochastic neural nets) gave them practically limitless potential for improving their ability to increase fitness, kept evolving themselves bigger and smarter until they got to be complex enough to figure out that
…
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My sister told me a soul mate is not the person
who makes you the happiest but the one who
makes you feel the most, who conducts your heartto bang the loudest, who can drag you giggling
with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in.
It has always been you. You are the firstperson I was afraid to sleep next to,
not because of the fear you would leave
in the night but because I didn’t want to wake upungracefully. In the morning, I crawled over
your lumbering chest to wash my face and pinch
my cheeks and lay myself out like a still-lifebeside you. Your new girlfriend is pretty
like the cover of a cookbook. I have said her name
into the empty belly of my apartment. Forgive me.When I feel myself falling out of love with you,
I turn the record of your laughter over, reposition
the needle. I dust the dirty living room of your affection.I have imagined our children. Forgive me. I made up
the best parts of you. Forgive me. When you told me
to look for you on my wedding day, to pauseon the altar for the sound of your voice
before sinking myself into the pond of another
love, forgive me. I mistook it for a promise.Sierra DeMulder, “Love, Forgive Me” (via noneifbysiken)(via sweetestdownfall1)
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…We lived for that bone-rattling, future-seeking moment.
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Posted on June 29, 2012 via Sink or Swim with 156 notes
Source: sinkorswim0



