silentshivers:

literally how does anyone not believe in aliens

are u really so anthropocentric that you think there are millions and billions and trillions of light years of the ever expanding universe but we’re the only life to possibly exist smh

(via webs-we-weave)

martaregadasfunnythings:

Society of dead poets

“You were given the power to love in order to use it, no matter what pain it may cause you.” — William S. Burroughs, qtd. in a letter from Jack Kerouac to Allen Ginsberg (via victoriajoan)

(via jackkerrouac)

Posted 3 days ago (originally victoriajoan) + 234 notes

Lucien Carr, David Kammerer and Jack Kerouac

Posted 3 days ago (originally jackkerrouac) + 54 notes

"Novel" by Arthur Rimbaud

thesettingofthesun:

I.


No one’s serious at seventeen.
—On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade
And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need
—You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade.

Lindens smell fine on fine June nights!
Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes;
The wind brings sounds—the town is near—
And carries scents of vineyards and beer…

II.

—Over there, framed by a branch
You can see a little patch of dark blue
Stung by a sinister star that fades
With faint quiverings, so small and white…

June nights! Seventeen!—Drink it in.
Sap is champagne, it goes to your head…
The mind wanders, you feel a kiss
On your lips, quivering like a living thing…

III.

The wild heart Crusoes through a thousand novels
—And when a young girl walks alluringly
Through a streetlamp’s pale light, beneath the ominous shadow
Of her father’s starched collar…

Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping,
She turns on a dime, eyes wide, 
Finding you too sweet to resist…
—And cavatinas die on your lips.

IV.

You’re in love. Off the market till August.
You’re in love.—Your sonnets make Her laugh.
Your friends are gone, you’re bad news.
—Then, one night, your beloved, writes

That night…you return to the blinding cafés;
You order beer or lemonade…
—No one’s serious at seventeen 
When lindens line the promenade

Know these words, and you speak the Carr language: fruit, phallus, clitoris, cacoethes, feces, foetus, womb, Rimbaud.” It was Carr who first introduced Ginsberg to the poetry and the story of Arthur Rimbaud, the 19th-century French poet whose youthful brilliance, decadent style and early death make him an enduring favorite among college students. Rimbaud would be a major influence on Ginsberg’s poetry.

Posted 3 days ago (originally jackkerrouac) + 238 notes

they don’t even know us. if they just got to know us they would see we’re just like them. no better, no worse. just regular people.

                  hey, stop calling us freaks! we’re people!
                              just like everybody in this joint.

(Source: maliatale, via andrewdxtmer)

Posted 3 days ago (originally maliatale) + 1,364 notes
#AHS