“Have you ever tried to outrun yourself? Lose yourself in a crowd, hide from yourself in the stall of a bathroom. Take on a new attitude to fool yourself into thinking that you’re someone else, me too. Same thing every time. At the end, it’s always you holding onto yourself. Out of breath, self humiliated, hot footed, red handed and hopelessly human.”—Henry Rollins, Black Coffee Blues (via twosevensclash)
I believe a bedroom should be a shrine of one’s self. A museum of memories, photos and junk that makes you happy.
I live in the attic of my house. It wasn’t very pretty prior to me making it my bedroom but I like to think I’ve done a decent job of making it my own. Fun fact, everyone in my family has lived in this room at some point, including my dad in the 40’s/50’s and my step brothers in the 60’s/70’s.
I like to treat my walls like a scrapbook. Any cool photo I’ve ever taken or cut out of a magazine get taped to my walls. And I am also an avid collector of junk. Many of my toys have followed me from my childhood, and I find the majority of my other treasures at thrift stores.
This shelf holds a fishbowl of small trinkets, my Goosebumps books and a small but growing lunch box collection.
“I swear to god I will lose my mind if I hear the “sex sells” fallacy one more time. Sex does not sell. If sex sold, we would see penises where we see boobs. Naked men would be on everything that naked women are on. Sex isn’t what they’re selling you. They’re selling you an impossible, pornographically fueled misogynistic idea of the perfect woman.”—