Anonymous, Study, Reflection of the Moon, Silver print, 1930
(via vindsval)
(Source: makeyourselfathomeinmyhead, via dis-forvitin)
There have been very few times in my life where I’ve heard music, and it floored me. This floored me. Floored me with goosebumps and spine tickles.
This is Hardcore Fest. Shins are shredded. Worth it.
Im in this alone. No one is ever getting back in. No one gets to see what’s behind the mask. You let someone in and they crush everything about you. Your self esteem, your pride, your free will and judgement. The only person that’s ever known what’s best for me is me. Love is fucking slavery.
In this world, not of it.
I live in an artificial world, where the people are empty husks, milling about, doing as they are told. Consuming what they are told to consume, and acting how they are told to act.
I long for the moment that the props are rolled away, the theater burns, and the vapid and vacant audience perish at the hands of their own commanders.
Modern society is just a waiting room for me.
