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breakfast at timothy's.Our solution to everything is, go dancing. Dancing is the morphine of the masses. Forget the opiate that makes us dumb; dancing is what makes us numb. All platform shoes and disco glitter we’re like rhinestone sequin moths to a flame from dusk to dawn until we fade away into the sunrise and rest up for another long night. Or sometimes we just don’t stop: some days we’ll move from club to club to club to a Starbucks to a Cracker Barrel to a theatre to a cocktail bar and back to the clubs without ever stopping once. It’s exhausting, but it’s what we have to do. Because, you have to unbreakfast at timothy's.
by ~xclockwork
new york: an introductionnew york was a boy with switchblade skin and he could slice through leather carseats.new york: an introduction
he destroyed the backseats and the heartbeats of almost all the girls and boys he fucked. they’d look at the ruins in the sun-harsh-through-condensation morning light and sigh and say, “he sure was pretty, though.”
they imagined him, you see, driving away in a pink car, the metallic paint and his metallic light shimmering centre point. but new york would run away home to curl up under his hello kitty duvet, his own little hideyhole, where he could paint his toenails and play with chanel perfume on his wrists and lips.
n
by ~BlackVelvetWhiteLace
lolita over cornbread.lolita over cornbread.
He had read Lolita once—just once—about a year before it happened, and found it terribly boring. He had an awkward, tender affection for the genteel old man whose aching hands had copied out in longhand those well-meaning words in the spring of 1954, but that affection was not so deep as to make him rethink his opinion of the novel. He had found it poetic and warm—the result of an obsessive desire to spill fixation onto notepaper—eloquent and old-world and dreadfully, dreadfully dull. His younger brother, named Paul but fondly n
by ~xclockwork
four boys and Ifour boys and I
There were four boys and I, back in London, and we'd run the streets after dark like the largest of owls, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and someone's shirtsleeve in the other. We'd tear down posters from the lampposts on the corners and smash in headlights with our bare knuckles. We never stopped moving, my four boys and I; not back in those days, we didn't. We didn't have much cash, hot or otherwise, and what we stole we spent on cigarettes and a bit of the stronger stuff. Our clothes were tattered and sewn back up a couple times along every hem, but we didn't mind. We were night creatures, back in London, and n
by ~xclockwork
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a thousand ancient bees began to sting our knees.
avatar by ~VivaLaValo
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a thousand ancient bees began to sting our knees.
avatar by ~VivaLaValo
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