I hate that my greatest moments of inspiration are always right before I must go to sleep. As if my fears and doubts relax and bed down just a little bit early. As if the only thing that can drive my creativity is regret at having wasted the rest of the day. As if it’s okay to be brilliant now, when it cannot be put to use and will amount to nothing.

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Shyness is nice


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(Source: coitusandcarnage, via ihatemortals)

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I touched your hand by accident.

I didn’t get a second chance.

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virtualvoid112 said: When inking. Does your motion come out of the arm or out of the wrist?


is this the police?

Okay, this made me lose my shit and laugh uncontrollably for several minutes.

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Oh Alexander I see you beneath

The archway of aerodynamics

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These are moments that I usually make a point to pay attention to. It’s always useful to have a specific moment in mind, when she is doing something completely mundane and totally confident and at ease. You can remind her of that moment and tell her it was when you realized how special she is, or how beautiful or whatever. Or even when you started to fall in love with her, if you want to open up that particular can of worms. This was one of those moments. She seemed to be a completely different person than the one who I met in the bar earlier in the evening. She was open and calm and joking with me. There was no shyness or self-consciousness about her missing hand. She was glowing with life and energy.

The only fly in the ointment was that I couldn’t use this particular moment because of what she happened to be doing. She had just completed some crucial stage in the net of fishhooks. She draped it over her hook and turned it around several times, pulling at this angle or that stray section. Every few turns she would add another fishhook and then invert the whole structure and begin again. It almost looked like some kind of jagged creature coaxing its hungry offspring out of an egg-sac. My hand stung just looking at it. I couldn’t help checking the bandage to see if it had started bleeding through. I could never use a moment like this. Not if I had any hope of appearing sincere. 

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Don’t fight things you can’t see, they’re meant to win.

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He can’t hurt you, but he might not know that.
He’ll stop if you say his name, but I can’t tell you what it is.

By the way, he has my face.

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Voicemail I just got from a restricted number.

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