Awkward palm tree.

bassjunky:

first time I ever got paid for something I actually enjoy. it feels weird to earn money for something you enjoy doing. I wasn’t even thinking about getting paid haha.

Dav, are you a whore now?

Anonymous asked: What's your most favorite Disney movie?

Easy! The Lion King ^^

Although I also really like Aristocats.

E.g. The guy sitting next to me now.

theconcealedprince:

Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about writers. They’re unpredictable. They might bring you eggs in bed for breakfast, or they might all but ignore you for days. They might bring you eggs in bed at three in the morning. Or they might wake you up for sex at three in the morning. Or make love at four in the afternoon. They might not sleep at all. Or they might sleep right through the alarm and forget to get you up for work. Or call you home from work to kill a spider. Or refuse to speak to you after finding out you’ve never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. Or spend the last of the rent money on five kinds of soap. Or sell your textbooks for cash halfway through the semester. Or leave you love notes in your pockets. Or wash your pants with Post-It notes in the pockets so your laundry comes out covered in bits of wet paper. They might cry if the Post-It notes are unread all over your pants. It’s an unpredictable life.

But what happens if a writer falls in love with you?

This is a little more predictable. You will find your hemp necklace with the glass mushroom pendant around the neck of someone at a bus stop in a short story. Your favorite shoes will mysteriously disappear, and show up in a poem. The watch you always wear, the watch you own but never wear, the fact that you’ve never worn a watch: they suddenly belong to characters you’ve never known. And yet they’re you. They’re not you; they’re someone else entirely, but they toss their hair like you. They use the same colloquialisms as you. They scratch their nose when they lie like you. Sometimes they will be narrators; sometimes protagonists, sometimes villains. Sometimes they will be nobodies, an unimportant, static prop. This might amuse you at first. Or confuse you. You might be bewildered when books turn into mirrors. You might try to see yourself how your beloved writer sees you when you read a poem about someone who has your middle name or prose about someone who has never seen To Kill A Mockingbird. These poems and novels and short stories, they will scatter into the wind. You will wonder if you’re wandering through the pages of some story you’ve never even read. There’s no way to know. And no way to erase it. Even if you leave, a part of you will always be left behind. 

If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. 

(Source: karenfelloutofbedagain)

Will be MIA for a while.
(Right before exams… What is this shit?)

As in, on my head, growing out of my scalp. It’s wayyy too thick. And yes I know I’ll be grateful when I’m old and not balding (assuming I live past 30 that is) but right now it’s just… A lot.

This feels weird.

I know age is just a number, but a number that indicates something… I doubt I’m going to change in any way. I don’t want to change in any way. I’m happy the way I am- flaws, “immaturity” (although I’m not actually all that bad- I can handle really intense situations) and all. I still don’t want to turn 20. It scares me. It feels old. It feels as if it’s appropriate that I put some things in the past, leave them all behind… But I don’t think I’m ready to yet?

Yikes.

Or maybe it’s the fact I just watched it.

Anyway it was insanely sad…