My friend Euan had been in Canada for the past year and none of us had seen him since he left. This is us welcoming him home. I realise that won’t interest most people but it’s worth watching just for the sheer joy and for Eilidh laughing over the last 20 seconds.
Patience, n. A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue.
Ambrose Bierce (via forgottencityiram)
Monday May 5 @ 10:38pm
Went to this club last night and was unaware of this story. Thankfully we all got chucked before any shit went doon in the toilets.
Monday May 5 @ 10:35pm
I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.
Sylvia Plath (via piiss)
Monday May 5 @ 10:21pm
It was a long, very intimate letter in the same sprawling capitals he used to write his songs. He did say he wished he was dead, but didn’t actually say that it was his intention to kill himself. He talked of our life together, romance, and passion; his love for me, his love for Natalie and his hate for Annik. He couldn’t have hated Annik. I never heard him say he hated anyone. I think he wrote that to try to please me. He told me he couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel as to tell her he didn’t want to see her again, even to save his marriage. The pages were full of contradictions. He asked me not to get in touch for a while as it was hard for him to talk to me. By the time he had finished writing, he told me, it was dawn and he could hear the birds singing.
Deborah Curtis on Ian Curtis’ suicide note. Taken from Touching from a Distance. (via joy-dvision)
Sunday May 5 @ 12:19am
