— Mary Oliver, from the book A Thousand Mornings (via fishingboatproceeds)
It’s three forty three in the morning and what the fuck is sleep?
My thoughts are too loud. I can’t hear anything else.
They tell me i’m not intelligent enough to be happy.
"If I told you that I had a wounded blue jay that was content to convalesce under my care in a nice cage with pine bark in the floor of it, and that caring for this bird, and this bird’s tolerance of me as I did so, in his nice fragrant cage, was all I needed to be content, would you think me a little off? Would you likewise take a dim view of me if I predict that were the bird to not convalesce to the point that it could be released, but instead were to live apparently happily in the cage until I found it one day on its side, departed, looking up sideways with that terrible glazed eye birds get, that I would be then more devastated than a child? If I told you that I intended to take this shovel, and this fresh bottle of whiskey, and go out and bury my blue jay and never be heard of again, and I invited you to come along, would you come?"
I just wanna make you cum, make you breakfast, and make you happy.
Cloverleaf tongue is a rare, inherited ability to fold the tongue in a certain configuration with multiple bends. Only a genetically chosen few could fold their tongues into the rare cloverleaf.
ratet, wer das kann
I can hehehe