This Speaks To Me

Inspiring posts
from an aspiring success.
I post anything that inspires me
and nothing that doesn't.
Amazing effects!

Amazing effects!

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.

—Nietzsche

God loves you because of who God is, not for anything you did or didn’t do.

No matter how you feel, get up, dress up, and show up.

Ha!  Right??  

Ha!  Right??  

Don’t ever take a girl to the NBA Finals.  She’ll just get bored.

Don’t ever take a girl to the NBA Finals.  She’ll just get bored.

This is so true.

(Source: pleatedjeans, via okayamelia)

All of my AWWWW.

(via okayamelia)

Music is everywhere, isn’t it? Even on a ski-lift. :)

Music is everywhere, isn’t it? Even on a ski-lift. :)

silkscreen:

Taken at SFAI.

silkscreen:

Taken at SFAI.

(via okayamelia)

francieum:

Pretty sure that’s a turtle.

Pretty sure that’s what supposed to be funny about it.

francieum:

Pretty sure that’s a turtle.

Pretty sure that’s what supposed to be funny about it.

(via okayamelia)

theparisreview:

Those heavy, drowned-washrag, still moonless nightsour hands would test the blindness of our faces,tourists scratching their names on marble columnsvalued for the old Ionic pallor.Ah travelers, your unmarked passports helddown for the inky stamp and the waved hand.Where had we been, what hopes had we abandoned?That was the summer when we couldn’t sleep,naked each night—your breasts aglow at dawn,your clammy skin a glistening repeat.The neighbors’ mournful country-western songsechoed across the lawn at three A.M.to anything awake to mate, to breed,to summer’s insects with a geisha’s feet.—William Logan, “Insects”Photography Credit Paul Strand

theparisreview:

Those heavy, drowned-washrag, still moonless nights
our hands would test the blindness of our faces,
tourists scratching their names on marble columns
valued for the old Ionic pallor.
Ah travelers, your unmarked passports held
down for the inky stamp and the waved hand.
Where had we been, what hopes had we abandoned?
That was the summer when we couldn’t sleep,
naked each night—your breasts aglow at dawn,
your clammy skin a glistening repeat.
The neighbors’ mournful country-western songs
echoed across the lawn at three A.M.
to anything awake to mate, to breed,
to summer’s insects with a geisha’s feet.

William Logan, “Insects”
Photography Credit Paul Strand

FilthFlarnFilth

FilthFlarnFilth