Tom Hiddleston - Wimbledon Celebrity Day Evian
Why doesn’t he have a freaking auto-biography yet?
Tom Hiddleston - Wimbledon Celebrity Day Evian
Why doesn’t he have a freaking auto-biography yet?
So:
What does that even mean?
Well tumblr, I’ll be pretty bored this summer so here goes nothing time to reblog nonsense and occasionally vent about the world.
Let’s go.
dumpster diving from lackagehuset, biking up and down the city center at midnight, taking bread and putting it in my borrowed bike basket, making it a bread basket, illegally biking without a light (its the little things), friends laughing at the prospect of cake and bread for days and days on end, until the end
this rush from going from not being able to eat to being able to eat for days + stealing = adrenaline rush
urantia book by paper whistle on Flickr.
Why is part of my brain playing the part of Dolores Umbridge?
vaguebrainthoughttrainstravellingatthespeedoflight
that + “we don’t need a cure for the weight of the world cause it’s floating round in the universe”
i just wanna be able to sleep without all the running and relish this last month…goshdarnit
1
My heart’s aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it’s throbbing!
then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.
2
I love you. I love you,
but I’m turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.
Words! be
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,
and I’ll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.
Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick
with bloody blows on its head.
I embrace a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.
3
That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest
oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea
4
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.
i miss the generations when a guy had to ask a girl out by asking her parents, where a girl could just be beautiful in a tshirt, where bubonic plagues decimated villages across europe and left a third of the population dead. reblog if u agree
4eva~*~
