1. "My father had taught me to be nice first, because you can always be mean later, but once you’ve been mean to someone, they won’t believe the nice anymore. So be nice, be nice, until it’s time to stop being nice, then destroy them."
    — Laurell K. Hamilton (via planb-becomeapirate)

    (Source: makelovetothemoon, via littleseababy)

     

  2. shadow-writer:

    A girl gets tired
    of writing poetry for
    boys who don’t read.

    A boy gets tired
    of writing poetry
    for girls who don’t listen

     

  3. "There is a fundamental reason why we look at the sky with wonder and longing—for the same reason that we stand, hour after hour, gazing at the distant swell of the open ocean. There is something like an ancient wisdom, encoded and tucked away in our DNA, that knows its point of origin as surely as a salmon knows its creek. Intellectually, we may not want to return there, but the genes know, and long for their origins—their home in the salty depths. But if the seas are our immediate source, the penultimate source is certainly the heavens… The spectacular truth is—and this is something that your DNA has known all along—the very atoms of your body—the iron, calcium, phosphorus, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and on and on—were initially forged in long-dead stars. This is why, when you stand outside under a moonless, country sky, you feel some ineffable tugging at your innards. We are star stuff. Keep looking up."
    — Neil de Grasse Tyson   (via pruvia)

    (Source: nguyen-hoang-huy, via imaginejubilation)

     
  4. writeworld:

    Writer’s Block

    A picture says a thousand words. Write them.

    Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture.

    Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!

     

  5. Chinatown

    heavy rain and dirty neon,
    light up the strip like day, 
    I pass it for the call of night 
    and in the shadows stay

    I double check my address
    beneath my boots, all shattered glass,
    alight among the blood and grime 
    devoted to the street en masse 

    my script wrote me to Chinatown 
    my scene this ally kept 
    I think: my odyssey to here, 
    long nights I should have slept 

    I button loose my trench coat
    it clinging to my skin,
    like dragons lost in Chinatown
    my head begins its spin

    the blue irides of my daughter’s eyes
    the red ribbon I once with duty tied
    my past a happy life
    now pang, for I had lied

    it carved me like a knife
    the lost-warm kiss of my lost wife
    the day I left them both behind
    estranged, into the night

    and a ghost appeared before me
    the phantom quick to draw,
    he lit an ember-cigarette
    his match I never saw

    "the usual no doubt" he said
    he fixed his soaked tweed brim
    a crumpled bill from hand-to-hand
    he grasped with smokey grin

    and with the ease of stealing from the dead
    in that avenue of heavy rain
    he passed a paper bag and said:
    "some shots to dull the pain"