“Sometimes i want to be a fuck up, you know? i want to destroy. i want to be destroyed. i want the opposite of what’s perfect and beautiful and what fairytales are made of.”—Moon-Unit’s english assignment (which is a series of short stories that somehow relate; it’s called ‘10 things i hate about growing up’. i love my friends)
I want to find one great boy that hais a haircut like the beatles, glasses like andy warhol, looks like david bowie, has conner oberst’s brain, the humor of flight of the concords, and talks like eric foreman.
so yesterday, my only friend here convinced me to go to this ‘desert concert’, i was reluctant beacause i thought i might have forgotten how to mosh—But the music filled me in the most fimilliar way and it just felt so good to be swinging and hitting and surrounded. I got punched in the nose and it felt so great to bleed like that again.