"I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be insane."
George Orwell, 1984 (via thatkindofwoman)
He’s in NYC. Two more sleeps.
What are the chances I’ll ever get over my secret obsession with female singer song writers from my 2003-2009 hotel cafe era?
Girls, HBO (via thatkindofwoman)
I met a woman today named Patricia. My apartment has never been so clean because of Patricia. I almost went through today without my heart pierced by the injustice of sorrow and my take-out boxes still surrounding the places where I sleep.
My father, James Walter Jr., learned from his father, James Walter Senior, the value of hard work. There are no cut corners. There are no jobs left unfinished. Why take the time to believe in yourself, because you’ll very quickly prove to yourself that you can do it because you have done it and then some. James Walter Senior was an astrolabe. The house I grew up in became the canvass on which my family displayed the void his death left in our lives.My dad lost his way on how to become a decent father and husband. He was violently angry, an attempt to assert authority, yet endearingly sensitive, an attempt to reconcile the harm he caused. The anger kept you co-dependent, parched for love, while the sweetness made you weary to form the connection you so desperately wanted. Somehow the work ethic weaved its way around the oscillation of conscience, and my dad did a thorough job at destroying our family.