The time for sleep is now but it’s nothing to cry about ‘cause we’ll hold each other soon.
How many total songs?
3156 songs. 8.2 days. 19.69 GB.
Sort by song title – first and last?
- First: Abel - The National
- Last: 9 Crimes - Damien Rice
Sort by time – shortest and longest?
- Shortest: Her Majesty - The Beatles (0:26)
- Longest: Meet Me In Montauk - Circa Survive & Down Once More/Track Down this Murderer - Andrew Lloyd Webber (14:33)
Sort by Album – first and last?
- First: Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus - Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds
- Last: 9 - Damien Rice
Sort by Artist – first and last?
- First: Adam and the Ants
- Last: 311
Top five played songs?
- Riga Girls - The Weepies
- Casimir Pulaski Day - Sufjan Stevens
- There’s A Light That Never Goes Out - Death Cab for Cutie (The Smiths Cover)
- Touch Me - Spring Awakening OBC
- Running Up That Hill - Placebo
Find the following words. How many songs show up?
- Sex: 11
- Death: 151
- Love: 171
- You: 417
- Home: 33
- Boy: 41
- Girl: 78
(Source: moonderps, via bloodyhellgranger)
Click here to see a funny video of my then two-year-old niece.
Going back in my arteries and waiting for my heart to bleed for the blood to go away.
Empty words from empty people.
When I was a child, I used to experiment on food a lot. My favorite creation was what I called the “Complete Fried Rice.” First, well of course, the rice. I then added eggs, dried pork tapa (cured pork), spam and honey cured bacon. Our housekeepers loved it! But they told me to stop doing it because of how much food was being wasted on one dish.
But it was delicious.
I also tried making ice cream and it was a disaster. But that’s another story.
Those girls you’re calling sluts might actually be more human than you are.
I believe I vomited myself and swallowed you in.
I don’t want your pretty face, I want your pretty words.
I love using long soup ladles to get soup from the pan. I just feel like I’m Oliver Twist being served gruel in the workhouse.
“I feel like the lint one rubs off from their belly button.”
The metaphors I make when I’m half-drunk are not pretty. Who in the world says something like this? I cannot stop laughing.
Reading and replying to your father’s long message of disappointment when you’re half-pissed at 3 in the morning is not a good idea. It leads to uncontrollable crying and maudlin prose. Among other things.
Please talk to me.
I thought that maybe if I confessed I would be absolved. But no, I just feel more dirty. I feel like the lint one rubs off from their belly button. The dust one wipes off old things. And this is not a feeling I want.
But this is the feeling that I deserve.
