Justine: I like to drink, listen to music, read, collect oddities, and take my cat for walks. I am always forgetting something.

So it goes...


The three of them together, resting in their landscapes

 2 3 

Oct 21st at 2AM / via: chandelierskies / op: st-pam / reblog / 15,168 notes

(Source: mariecallum.blogspot.com)

Oct 19th at 8PM / via: swampqueen13 / op: october-mischief / reblog / 18,078 notes

Bandaids for your spooky aesthetics

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Bandaids for your spooky aesthetics

Oct 19th at 8PM / via: youandiareintertwined / op: earthiling / reblog / 43,824 notes


Halloween is coming, Roxy is not amused

Oct 15th at 2PM / via: unimpressedcats / op: sapphiregrim / reblog / 375 notes

Girls shotgunning beers

(Source: ablacklodge)

Oct 13th at 5PM / via: whatisjes / op: ablacklodge / reblog / 48,871 notes


Dum Dum Girls at The Echo. More photos HERE.

Oct 13th at 5PM / via: whatisjes / op: leonardalbert / reblog / 290 notes


Scanned the Cat Collection from my #Inktober sketchbook. 

Oct 13th at 5PM / via: wiggleworm4lyfe / op: emilenox / reblog / 45,735 notes

Ready for Halloween

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Ready for Halloween

Oct 13th at 12PM / via: brujacore / op: awwww-cute / reblog / 92,514 notes

“Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”

Kait Rokowski, “A Good Day” (via oofpoetry)


(via wander-my-insanity)

Oct 13th at 12PM / via: youandiareintertwined / op: oofpoetry / reblog / 13,846 notes

(Source: october-seance)

Oct 12th at 7PM / via: goth-waffles / op: october-seance / reblog / 2,871 notes

(Source: breakyoselffool)

Oct 12th at 7PM / via: goth-waffles / op: breakyoselffool / reblog / 118,592 notes

(Source: anitaisnacht)

Oct 12th at 7PM / via: goth-waffles / op: anitaisnacht / reblog / 3,910 notes