sluttyoliveoil:

im glad i have a tumblr so i can see the same four posts a thousand times on my dashboard

(via layinginthe-rain)

zanetheaiden:

u readin this?

u a princess.

i dont care if youre a goddamn bodybuilder, ur now princess protein

(via layinginthe-rain)

cherrylisa:

beautifulgodzilla:

THIS TOOK A FAR DIFFERENT TURN THEN I EXPECTED

This is how SWBT SHOULD be. Oh if only…
inuis:

fantomeheart:

The only acceptable birthday cake

so when you blow out that candle you’ll be killing that charmander happy birthday u sick fuk
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another, unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made of layers, cells, constellations. - Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 4: 1944-1947   (via owls-love-tea)

(Source: hellanne, via owls-love-tea)

Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives. - Lemony Snicket (via psych-facts)

(via tiedwithab0w)

honeyhydrangea:

seltzerlizard:

I love Tacos!!  Too Much!!


powwwowww
lesscold:

hogxote:

Trans-fixed, by Chris Burden. Venice Beach, 1976.

This guys wild I learns about him last year
©

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