Post St. & Hyde St., San Francisco. Please Comment If You Know The Artist.

What Dr. King actually said about car commercials.

Only few more pages left to fill :)

The version of you right now is deserving of love. Not you two years ago when you had more of your shit together, or the five years later version where you’ll surely be thriving. The version of you right now. The one that might just be okay, or is really struggling, or is bored and unproductive. That version deserves love. Having trouble accepting this is fine, but actively denying it is not. Your value is intrinsic, and finding confidence in that is mandatory.

Easy night By Vinnie Maurillo

man i miss the freedom of 2013 tumblr. people used to make up stories about everything and anything. remember how popular fandom bloggers would say they saw an “aesthetic blogger” in public and they got into a fight? or that they had a substitute teacher with a sonic screwdriver get into witty banter with the op and confess love on the spot before running out of the classroom never to be seen again? like, can you imagine if any of this stuff happened irl? if someone ran up to me while i’m vibin in a starbucks and hissed “poetry blog” at me i’d be so completely decimated by the correct analysis that i would be thanos snapped into nothingness. nevermind the idea of showing up 15 minutes late to a class and the substitute teacher was apparently never employed by the school and in fact sprinted out of the building before getting caught. i love this shit. it’s so wonderfully fictive and so effortlessly self-indulgent i live for it unironically bc why cringe about it!! people love to imagine themselves in better situations, and that’s how creativity flourishes. i know you, reading this, have imagined yourself the romantic hero or the tragic savior or lottery winner or whatever else - at least once. and that’s really wonderful and beautiful and you should imagine these things. you are the romantic hero. i love you already. allons-y. 

“Each person is only given so many evenings, and each wasted evening is a gross violation against the natural course of your only life.”

— Charles Bukowski (via elshalarossa)

Redwood Forest, Humboldt County, California