Skeptiste

[skep-teest] adjective
1. a designer of skepticism, devoted skeptic
2. one who questions the uncommonly questioned
3. a person who not only doubts the truth, but doubts that there is a singular truth
~
http://skeptiste.blogspot.com/

I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.
— Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text  (via lonelinessispornography)

(Source: observando, via lonelinessispornography)

Being feminine is being desired and hated at the same time. A feminine body or mind is expected to be open and receiving to everything from others’ emotional baggage to sexual fantasies of total strangers. At the same time, receptivity (not that this defines femininity by any means) is considered weak and inferior. The result of this is often violence. Femininity is to be present for other’s needs and then destroyed for its perceived weaknesses.
— Womanist Musings: Processes of Feminization: Becoming Myself  (via lonelinessispornography)

(Source: feminishblog, via lonelinessispornography)

Maybe we’ll meet again, when we are slightly older and our minds less hectic, and I’ll be right for you and you’ll be right for me. But right now, I am chaos to your thoughts and you are poison to my heart.

(Source: nullalibertas, via areejsassy)

You don’t need to be
someone else’s universe
to be able to see
that you are a galaxy.

You don’t need to be
someone else’s light
to be able to appreciate
the way you shine.
m.v., For every girl that ever felt she wasn’t enough.  

(via anditslove)

I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone, it’s not. The worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel all alone
— Robin Williams   (via hefuckin)

(via areejsassy)

So when people leave, I’ve learned the secret: let them. Because, most of the time, they have to.

Let them walk away and go places. Let them have adventures in the wild without you. Let them travel the world and explore life beyond a horizon that you exist in. And know, deep down, that heroes aren’t qualified by their capacity to stay but by their decision to return.

— The Staying Philosophy (Everyday Isa)

(Source: everydayisa.wordpress.com, via yikesmikesandikes)

coltre:

Hearts are wild creatures.That’s why our ribs are cages.
View high resolution

coltre:

Hearts are wild creatures.
That’s why our ribs are cages.

(via anditslove)

Date someone who is interested in you. I don’t mean someone who thinks you’re cute or funny. I mean someone who wants to know every insignificant detail about you. Someone who wants to read every word you write. Someone who wants hear every note of your favourite song, and watch every scene of your favourite movie. Someone wants to find every scar upon your body, and learn where each one came from. Someone who wants to know your favourite brand of toothpaste, and which quotes resonate deep inside your bones when you hear them. There is a difference between attraction and interest. Find the person who wants to learn every aspect of who you are, and hold onto them.
— Anonymous (via blackbruise)

(Source: stayy-for-tonight, via yikesmikesandikes)

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back she was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

(Source: extrasad, via yikesmikesandikes)

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