April 2010
1 post
March 2010
144 posts
Poem by Adolf Hitler (1915) I often go on bitter nights To Wotan’s oak in the quiet glade With dark powers to weave a union— The runic letters the moon makes with its magic spell And all who are full of impudence during the day Are made small by the magic formula! They draw shining steel—but instead of going into combat They solidify into stalagmites. So the false ones part from the real...
THE WORLD WAR II SECTION OF BARNES AND NOBLE MAY HAVE GIVEN ME AN ORGASM ON THIS FINE AFTERNOON.
“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?”
– Ernest Hemingway (via parti) (via virginmassacre)
