où es-tu, lumière de ma vie?
EL Barbudo
Arthur, 18

Writing to share all my pleasure and pain

- solene, best girlfriend in the world





The greatest and forgotten gift of our race. Reason, calculate, ponder, create.

Some use it for little, applying it to the bubble of the present, it is easy to accept what life is. Like walking a street, without peering into the windows of life’s great questions. How a gift goes rotten with such depreciation. Others are the greatest of us, for them thought is a wave, it guides their movements and lives, they can do no wrong. Where ours stumbles in stages, their lives neither begins nor end, they simply exists powerful, unstoppable and beautiful; The intellectual ghosts. Finally there is us. The few, we know not what to think, but we think. Endless spiralling dreams and cyclical hopes, those of us who dwell in some far off existence, and yet we live the lives as the others; destined to be eternally disappointed. Thoughts come not as waves or as a confined entity, instead it strikes as lighting. Piercing us at once with so much confidence in our thoughts, we squeeze what we can from that time, before the juice drains away for other far off time. We are the brutally inspired, the sin of Socrates, the waiters, the dreamers, and the thinkers of thought. 


Stephanie Farrow, Mia’s little sister

more here

to wander is to find.
print: here  
{taken glacier national park}
"Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?…If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!"
J.R.R. Tolkien (via packerbacker94)




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