Idolatry of the body (celibate soul), of sex, no real love!
sometimes the lights go out
Hopeless romanticism is the last vestige of love in the world. for a young man to single himself out as a believer in beauty and love, to earnestly wish for a family, this is genuinely radical.
love me for a year this week
and i will love you for every week in the year
your bourgeois feminism
won’t save you now
and don’t you like it
i wish i was vincent gallo
he would know what to do
he would call me a faggot
beer, wine, coffee, tea, whiskey, milk
honey, bread, meat, fish, fruit, eggs
tobacco, sunlight, 3
these are some of my favorite things