— Welcome to Night Vale
9:05 pm 324 notes
— J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey
9:03 pm 260 notes
— Raymond Carver, Where I’m Calling From
9:02 pm 245 notes
In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness.
And God said, “Let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done.” And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as man alone could speak. God leaned close as mud as man sat up, looked around, and spoke. Man blinked. “What is the purpose of all this?” he asked politely.
“Everything must have a purpose?” asked God.
“Certainly,” said man.
“Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this,” said God.
And He went away.”
— Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle
10:25 pm 240 notes
when god lets my body be
From each brave eye shall sprout a tree
fruit that dangles therefrom
the purpled world will dance upon
Between my lips which did sing
a rose shall beget the spring
that maidens whom passion wastes
will lay between their little breasts
My strong fingers beneath the snow
Into strenuous birds shall go
my love walking in the grass
their wings will touch with her face
and all the while shall my heart be
With the bulge and nuzzle of the sea”
— e.e. cummings
10:23 pm 80 notes
— Richard Brautigan
6:06 pm 330 notes
— Charlie Kaufman, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
6:05 pm 724 notes
— Andrea Gibson
6:02 pm 1,109 notes
— Shinji Moon, I Love You
5:57 pm 291 notes
— Charles Bukowski, Somebody
5:56 pm 486 notes
You are tired,
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)
You have played,
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
So am I.
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.
Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.
— e.e. cummings
5:54 pm 267 notes
— Franz Kafka
10:40 am 751 notes