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It's not the time to sleep now. Wake up. Wake up.

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socialpsychopathblr:

By Nikolay Tikhomirov

(via se-van)


1:00 pm     9,518 notes
August 9 2014

This city is made of wolves and gods,
nymphs with hacked off hair and kohled-up eyes,
wide-eyed prophets slurring over a bottle of Jack.

Ares dons leather as he prowls outside the club.
Mottled bruising spills into the half-crescent below
his eye – a bar fight left him bloody, laughing.

Old Lucifer and his host of rebel angels smoke Marlboros
in the alleyway. Abaddon spent the night in a holding cell
last weekend, head bowed and teeth gleaming.

This time, they keep to the shadows. This generation,
these new party monsters slicked with glitter and sweat,
birthed from smoke machines and sticky dancefloors —

well, the prince of darkness knows better than to meddle.

Here, we are the wolves. Divinity had the sense
not to touch us. Instead, we bare our teeth, clutch bottles
like lifelines, soak up the messy beats, hide in the
darkness between the strobe lighting.

In battered neon lights our names are written,
like stars, but less.

coleridges (via luscifers)

(Source: machiavels, via luscifers)


2:39 pm     2,810 notes
August 6 2014

(Source: veraintheden, via picassosghost)


5:39 pm      96,968 notes
August 3 2014

you’d been betrothed to lunacy;
oh, but siren of the bourn,
how the madman adored you,
and how he loved you still.

our ends are our beginnings, a.m.

(Ophelia, for ndsays.)

(via mirroir)


10:26 pm     905 notes
August 2 2014

daysandhours:

This is God’s Country : Southern Gothic

Music for the days when you believe in God, the Devil, and dark banjo licks. Stomp your feet, clap your hands, and string your fiddle, because it’s time to down that whiskey and sing your song. This may be God’s country, but there are demons living here. The South is full of blood, blues, and belles, and there ain’t a soul alive that can remember otherwise.

8tracks / spotify / songza / download

(via fuckyeahfanmixes)


8:14 pm     4,846 notes
August 2 2014

(Source: riskyteacher, via liahpaisley)


8:13 pm      128,457 notes
August 2 2014

7knotwind:

JULIEN MAUVE | +
after lights out 2013

Night no longer exists. City lights cover up the stars, and cell phone screens lighten even the darkest of alleyways. And soon, imagine a world in which our lights render even the sun gratuitous. 

In the darkness of space, light is a beacon of hope. What if darkness in our world once again overtook the night and as an affect, transforming even the most insignificant light into an exception – a mystical phenomenon ? In a world in black and blue, the single incandescence of a bulb could be the greatest promise of an adventure about to start.”
 

(via luscifers)


8:11 pm     2,071 notes
August 2 2014

Every minute or so a mockingbird
delivers its repertoire.
Here’s my blood
in the gray remains of a mosquito.
I know I’m just another slug
in the yard, but that’s not what
my body knows.
The boy must die is the lesson
hardest learned.
I’ll be home soon. Will you understand
if not forgive
that I expect to be loved
beyond deserving, as always?

— Stephen Dunn, from “Letter Home” (via fables-of-the-reconstruction)

(via swanfucker)


8:09 pm     39 notes
August 2 2014

gnossienne:

tread lightly, heathen: {a penny dreadful compilation}
Perhaps it has always been there, this thing, this demon inside me.

listen | download | tracklisting

gnossienne:

tread lightly, heathen: {a penny dreadful compilation}

Perhaps it has always been there, this thing, this demon inside me.

8:08 pm      593 notes
August 2 2014

When you don’t know what you’re living for, you don’t care how you live from one day to the next. You’re happy the day has passed and the night has come, and in your sleep you bury the tedious question of what you lived for that day and what you’re going to live for tomorrow.

— Oblomov, Ivan Goncharov.  (via mirroir)

(Source: ivankaramazovs, via mirroir)


8:05 pm     3,599 notes
August 2 2014

s.t.