Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes.
The Winter of the Air (via rainydaysandblankets)

(Fuente: kalynroseanne)

(Reblogueado desde juliatrotti)

fuckyeahtattoos:

My second tattoo.

I forgive my step dad for not putting effort into our relationship my entire life because now he is very sick with cancer.

I forgive my first love for ripping my heart out after three years because she taught me what love feels like.

I forgive myself for putting those scars on my arm when I was in a bad place because everyone is sad sometimes.

I forgive my mom for not spending time with me this last year because my step dad needs her more.

I will always forgive.

http://st0pthistrain.tumblr.com/

(Reblogueado desde fuckyeahtattoos)
journo-geekery:

[Participation effects in crowdsourced historical weather data transcription*] « Old Weather Blog
Caption: “16,400 little boxes – one for each person who’s contributed to oldWeather. The area of each box is proportional to the number of pages transcribed, between us all we’ve done 1,090,745 pages.”
Far-too-addictive crowdsourced science project Old Weather—which asks volunteers to encode Royal Navy ship logs from pre-WWI logbooks—shares some details about their volunteers.  I found myself contrasting this with the dearth of diversity in Wikipedia contributors, among others.
* My concise, dorky title. Their own doesn’t describe the data much at all.

journo-geekery:

[Participation effects in crowdsourced historical weather data transcription*] « Old Weather Blog

Caption: “16,400 little boxes – one for each person who’s contributed to oldWeather. The area of each box is proportional to the number of pages transcribed, between us all we’ve done 1,090,745 pages.”

Far-too-addictive crowdsourced science project Old Weather—which asks volunteers to encode Royal Navy ship logs from pre-WWI logbooks—shares some details about their volunteers.  I found myself contrasting this with the dearth of diversity in Wikipedia contributors, among others.

* My concise, dorky title. Their own doesn’t describe the data much at all.

(Reblogueado desde journo-geekery)
fuckyeahtattoos:

“This is not what it is only baby scars, I need your love like a boy needs his mothers side”  Second and Sebring by Of Mice and Men
A lot of people have been asking me what this means to me, or why I got this tattoo.
I’m influenced by a lot of music, but hey, who isn’t? These lyrics stuck out the most. Not because my mother has passed away, but because I could never even imagine what it would be like. She has always been here for me by the end of the day. Whether it was self harm (as you can see), new medication, hospitalization, countless therapist and doctors, not eating, not sleeping and being both parents because I never had my real father around. I put it over a set of self harm scars, the ones that stuck out the most so I could look at the tattoo and see a wonderful song, instead of a bad time. So I could say ‘This shit isn’t deep, its nothing, it truly is only baby scars’ I hope whoever sees this can maybe think the same thing when they are in a rut.   
Source- http://rebloggy.com/post/26356227899

fuckyeahtattoos:

“This is not what it is only baby scars, I need your love like a boy needs his mothers side”  Second and Sebring by Of Mice and Men

A lot of people have been asking me what this means to me, or why I got this tattoo.

I’m influenced by a lot of music, but hey, who isn’t? These lyrics stuck out the most. Not because my mother has passed away, but because I could never even imagine what it would be like. She has always been here for me by the end of the day. Whether it was self harm (as you can see), new medication, hospitalization, countless therapist and doctors, not eating, not sleeping and being both parents because I never had my real father around. I put it over a set of self harm scars, the ones that stuck out the most so I could look at the tattoo and see a wonderful song, instead of a bad time. So I could say ‘This shit isn’t deep, its nothing, it truly is only baby scars’ I hope whoever sees this can maybe think the same thing when they are in a rut.   

Source- http://rebloggy.com/post/26356227899

(Reblogueado desde fuckyeahtattoos)

fuckyeahtattoos:

First tattoo by Tiny Tim at Devil’s Ink in Newport, Melbourne.

The anchor represents strength and holding fast through times of trouble.

(Reblogueado desde fuckyeahtattoos)
próximamente ..

próximamente ..

¿Quién?

dieciocho motivos pa dejarte, catorce consejos pa olvidar..
quinientas razones para odiarte, saco la cuenta y a sumar..
millones de ovejas pal desvelo, cóctel de pastillas pa dormir..
catorce las muestras de tu pelo, como cuchillos de faquir.

¿cuando fue que se fue tu amor? ¿como fue que se fue sin mi?
que no amanezca por favor…

se trepa la luz por la ventana, se escuchan los autos por ahí..
tu adn esta en la cama, y yo lo clono para mi..
de tantas formas siento miedo, que he preferido no salir..
sesenta veces dije puedo, ochenta más me arrepentí..

¿cuando fue que se fue tu amor? ¿como fue que se fue sin mí?…

¿quien te besó lejos de aquí?, mientras te inventaba en la cama..
¿quien te rozó lejos de mi? ¿quien te acompaña esta mañana?
¿cuanto perdí? ¿quien te gano? ¿que hago con este miedo a futuro?…

Saco la cuenta y a restar..

son siete lunes por semana, son 30 inviernos cada mes..
las horas son de porcelana, la vida un juego de ajedrez..
dejaste minas en la casa, con objetivos de matar..
la vida llora cuando pasa, la suerte ríe en el plackard..

dejaste tu sombra merodeando sin permiso por la casa..
la huella en la alfombra de tu espalda como cráter en la luna, y tu reflejo en el espejo…

¿quién te ganó?…
¿quien te besó lejos de aquí? ¿quien te acompaña esta mañana?…

60 veces dije puedo, 80 más me arrepentí.

mi vida..
mis papas..
mi razón de vivir..
mis sol de cada día.. 
Por ellos soy lo que soy, por ellos es que estoy en este mundo y por ellos estoy soportando tantas cosas, los extraño tantisimo y los amo.