I’m enjoying this whole going out and having hours of conversation thing.
Reblogging for those AMAZING tights!
Reblogging for those AMAZING tights! tits!
(Source: southstreetcollective)
The notion of potentially being diagnosed with the same illness as one of my early heroes isn’t making this week any better
Especially when said person is considered to be one of rock’s biggest nutbars.
:S
Nina fucking Hagen
After what the doctor told me this afternoon, it is taking all of my strength not to drink the shiraz in the wine rack.
Marla would be upset if I caved.
I need a drink or six though :(
…except he doesn’t make music, he just exploits trends and the mainstream for profit.
You actually hurt the distributer. I believe the current profit an artist recieves from Spotify is $0.0098 per song play.
So the difference between legally and illegally listening to music is next to nothing.
(Source: lewlewlew)
Anxiety.
Its gotten to the point where I am able to give the outward impression that I am fine 99% of the time, but I am unable to do things that I *need* to do.
Which is really not good.
Doctor time, methinks.
I got asked last night who the real Tyrone is.
I’m not even sure how to answer that anymore. Or if it even a relevant question. We’re mutable beings, after all.
Thanks for the curve balls, life, it makes things awesomely frustrating.
The realisation that I am sitting at home, alone on a Friday night just sank in.
Which is all kinds of messed up given the fact that I am an engaging, attractive, intelligent person.