I live in the live music capital of the world. Tattoos. Bikes. Music. Octopi. Rocks. Derby. Guys. Girls. Eyes. Jellyfish. Drugs. Explosions. Monsters. Long forgotten decades. I can dig it. My name's Abi and I'm really uncool.
When he told her
that her voice sounded like earl grey tea
and her laugh like manic pencil scratches;
that he always drew out the pattern of her freckles on restaurant napkins;
that she was the princess
he told his little sister bedtime stories about;
that her eyelashes looked pretty when she cried;
his voice trembled like a violin string
and she cracked like the spine of a book.
Unknown (via allthingssoulful)
If you want to really hurt you parents, and you don’t have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possible can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.
― Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country (via alicetalentless)