SO RECKLESSLY.

23. Taken & Free.
My Love Affairs: // Books // Motorcycles // Firefighting // Driving // Travel // Hockey // Stratocasters // Steven Hyde // Blues // Photography // Cigarettes // Brand New // Art // Led Zeppelin // Jeans // Religion // Arctic Monkeys // Band of Horses // Bourbon // Boots // Pennsylvania // Robert Plant // Restlessness // BRMC // Maps // Rain // Ink // 11:11

sexience:

best porn blog ever

Mmf.

(Source: qmuchacha, via sunfl0werpetal)

eartheld:

mostly nature

eartheld:

mostly nature

(Source: hikingdreams)

“If she only wants you, don’t worry about who wants her”

—   (via massiv3)

(Source: gold-kushkloudz, via love-after-dusk)

pieddepyper:

Ladies is trubble.

(via incomplete-stupidity)

wildbutgentleman:

Wild but Gentleman
lexienalley:

GIF of a storm out west that I drove through for about 4 hours that I madeinstagram / twitter / website / flickr

lexienalley:

GIF of a storm out west that I drove through for about 4 hours that I made
instagram / twitter / website / flickr

(via sammysee)


Before the availability of the tape recorder and during the 1950s, when vinyl was scarce, people in the Soviet Union began making records of banned Western music on discarded x-rays. With the help of a special device, banned bootlegged jazz and rock ‘n’ roll records were “pressed” on thick radiographs salvaged from hospital waste bins and then cut into discs of 23-25 centimeters in diameter. “They would cut the X-ray into a crude circle with manicure scissors and use a cigarette to burn a hole,” says author Anya von Bremzen. “You’d have Elvis on the lungs, Duke Ellington on Aunt Masha’s brain scan — forbidden Western music captured on the interiors of Soviet citizens.” [x]

I want out.

I’m not ready to settle for this dull, repetitive reality.

I want a crisp, cool lake in the middle of nowhere. I want a little boat with a dingy outboard motor that hardly works, and two fishing rods, one for me and one for him. I want a little cabin with a tiny kitchen, with a second hand coffee maker and one big cast iron pan for breakfasts. The living room is full of books. And in the bedroom is a clean bed, a modest bed, but it’s the most damn comfortable one you’ve ever slept on.


We can lock up the cabin and drive anywhere we want, anytime. We can drive up the coast of California and watch the sun rise by the cliffs in Crescent City. Then we can camp in the woods of southern Oregon. Or drive to SoDak and spend a week at the ranch. Sip coffee on the porch and watch the horses come in. Anywhere. Any time. Wherever we want.


I don’t simply want these things. My heart actively hurts for these things. I yearn for these things. My psyche is wilting, confined and beaten by the life I have made here, and I hardly have anything left that makes me genuinely happy.


I don’t want the internet. I don’t want cable, or traffic lights. I’m tired of clocking in and clocking out. I’m sick of hearing my phone go off. I get my schedule for next week and all I want to do is call in and quit. I want to see all the beautiful places in the world, not just someone else’s photos. I want to LIVE my life. I want to work with my hands, with music, with images of beauty. I want to make people genuinely happy by doing something that I love. I’m sick of living just to work, just to pay bills, just to exist. It sounds cliche, but I honestly don’t understand what it is I am working for. Ironically, being responsible, mature, and independent has relieved me of my freedom. I am now stuck in the orbit of obligation and adulthood, and I don’t know how to get out. I don’t know how to get out.