Jon Juarez ON TUMBLR

Adam D
I stare at myself, I disgust myself: one more eternity.
Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea (via comecomeviolence)

(via comecomeviolence)

You are such a crazy distraction

to me I can barely handle it. It feels like I haven’t attended classes in a month and a half because my mind has revolved around you rather than my studies. Right now, as I sit here past midnight with a paper to write and a test to study for, I’ve realized that while you’re worth missing, I don’t want you to be my excuse. I want to be a success and still miss you. Initially I think I wanted you to see that I was struggling, as if I needed physical evidence for it. Initially, I wanted to slack off and wallow in you and us. The truth is, that you’re worth being missed by a successful girl. A girl who loves but isn’t consumed. A girl who has a grip on herself, or at least who is trying to maintain the grip and not letting go.

I fucked myself over. I miss you mad bad.


Love actually
Kierkegaard may shout in warning: “If man had no eternal consciousness, if, at the bottom of everything, there were merely a wild, seething force producing everything, both large and trifling, in the storm of dark passions, if the bottomless void that nothing can fill underlay all things, what would life be but despair?” This cry is not likely to stop the absurd man. Seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable. If in order to elude the anxious question: “What would life be?” one must, like the donkey, feed on the roses of illusion, then the absurd mind, rather than resigning itself to falsehood, prefers to adopt fearlessly Kierkegaard’s reply: “despair.”

Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus

(via heteroglossia)

(via acknowledgetheabsurd)

I hope you are happy

because I am so fucking destroyed


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