Litteraturely

If they don’t reply to your texts — they’re not interested in you.

If they don’t call you — they’re not interested in you.

If they forget your birthday — they’re not interested in you.

If they’re hung up on their ex — they’re not interested in you.

If they’re obsessed with being single — they’re not interested in you.

If they don’t want to meet your friends — they’re not interested in you.

If they don’t want you to meet their friends — they’re not interested in you.

If they don’t ask questions about your life — they’re not interested in you.

If they don’t tell you things about their life — they’re not interested in you.

If they only speak to you when they want to have sex with you — they’re not interested in you.

If they only have sex with you when they’re drunk — they’re not interested in you.

If they say “should we just keep this between us?’ after you have sex with them — they’re not interested in you.

If they don’t have sex with you — they’re not interested in you.

If they can always find a psychobabble rationale about who “I am” or “you are” or “we are” as reason why you can’t be together — they’re not interested in you.

If they have said for more than six months that they would like to be with you “BUT” — they’re not interested in you.

And if you still need convincing — think of it this way. Think of what the real day-to-day of life is taken up by. Life is birthday parties at terrible pubs. Life is losing your credit card and the annual Melbourne Cup sweepstake in the office. Life is hen’s nights, bucks’ nights, sitting on the phone for three hours to get U2 tickets and not getting them, the apartment upstairs flooding your house, interval training, calorie counting, cancer scares, illegal mini cabs, Secret Santa, rail replacement buses and Dido albums. Dogs die, cars crash, bin liners break, contracts end, curtain rails collapse, trains get delayed, football teams lose. Divorce happens and so do earthquakes and so does An Audience With Michael Bublé. Landlords put rent up, phones get stolen and the supermarket often completely runs out of hummus.

Now, taking all of the above into account — you look me dead in the eye and tell me the truth. Do you really have enough spare energy to pursue someone who isn’t interested in you? Do you really want to waste any more time on top of all of that? No. Me neither. So give it up, my friend. It’s a loser’s game. Delete their number. Don’t go on any more dates with them. Stop lurking their Facebook page. Feels good, doesn’t it?

Dolly Alderton (via gaslightgoodbye)
Nerdy philosophical fact of the day

the-shallow-philosopher:

The insanity that would eventually consume Nietzsche first showed when he seen a horse being whipped resulting in him holding the horse in his arms to protect it before collapsing. It is reported that after the incident at home he began dancing naked and thought of shooting the kaiser. He was then admitted to an insane asylum with his insanity most likely stemming from syphilis that he contracted in a brothel in college.

It was previously a question Of finding out whether or not life Has to have a meaning to be lived. It now becomes clear, on the contrary That it will be lived all the better if it has no meaning.
Albert Camus (via the-shallow-philosopher)
slaughterhouse90210:

“There’s an intimacy in listening to somebody’s lies, I’ve always thought—you learn more about someone from the things they wish were true than from the things that actually are.” ― Jennifer duBois, A Partial History of Lost Causes

slaughterhouse90210:

“There’s an intimacy in listening to somebody’s lies, I’ve always thought—you learn more about someone from the things they wish were true than from the things that actually are.”
― Jennifer duBois, A Partial History of Lost Causes

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

saschaisking:

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

- Maya Angelou

If you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires, I can no longer say whether these emotions are my own, or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.
Evelyn Waugh (via uglypnis)
uuuugh

fckn12yearold:

my head throb from a cut
that i don’t remember where i got 
maybe it’s from that asshole
that i forgot his name but 
i remember it now
and i want to puke


because he is such an asshole and
i don’t remember his name again 
he’s disappeared and i hope he 
doesn’t come back 
but i wish he would because he’s so cool
and i’mmmmm so lame 
but i guess 
no one is inferior
that’s what she told me 
because she didn’t grasp it when she was young 
but now she pretends to read books 
when she’s riding on the subway 
to no where special 
when she wishes that she was going
to your house
and she knows she can’t
and i can’t either because i didn’t fuck him 
but i never fucked anyone
because i’m too young
and my heart and eyes are pure
until i let you 
into my heart 
but fuck you (i want to fuck you)
because i really don’t want to think about you
or anyone in particular because 
it leads to death and sadness but i am so sad 
because of people
but without people 
i would die
and i wish you didn’t know me and i was a mystery
but i think you know what i’m all about
it’s not fair
i’m so angry 

I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.
We are constantly trying to hold it all together. If you really want to see why you do things, then don’t do them and see what happens.
Michael A. Singer, The Untethered Soul (via quoted-books)

“Here is the thing. You have to be cold to be queen. Anne Boleyn loved with her heart, and ended up getting her head chopped off. But her daughter Elizabeth, bowed to never marry a man. She married a country. Keep your eye on the prize. You cant make people love you but you can make them fear you.” — Blair Waldorf