Dunton Hot Springs, Colorado: what dreams are made of (via)
(Source: jetaime-ny, via le-petitlapin)
PATAGONIA 097_ (by Sabino Demerson)
These rhymes are great. And I can officially rap my favorite parts like:
“purchase the philly, not the city of philly
silly punk i’m talkin’ ‘bout the cigar the philly blunt.”
&
“eehheehee sorry red for spilly it, you better pick up every seed of it”
I stood in my kitchen after driving around town for awhile. I felt so connected to my house. It was like this slow motion panoramic view of the hemispheric kitchen. As I scanned all 180 degrees of it, different memories flashed before me of my childhood. Middle school, friendships, relationships, family drama, and the like. I grew up here. Cried here, laughed here, fought here, you know the rest.
And now it’s completely different from what it used to be. It doesn’t even feel like my house anymore. I don’t feel that warm comfort when walk through the front door. It’s like entering a battlefield. Who is in a terrible mood today? Who is going to snap and lash out at the closest family member? You don’t realize how much a traumatic medical incident can change a family and its household instantly. Everyone is in a constant state of panic. Everyone is always on their guard, ready to attack. Still. It’s been three years. When will this end.
Do you get now why I want to be here.
Epiphany under thunderclouds (by fields of bohemia)
