my name is cote (she/her). chilean philosophy student who digs post-punk, aestheticism, goth and modernist lit, feminism, and vampires.
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everything has gone to shit my mind is dead i have no intellectual capacity anymore im toxic and unnecessary and disposable
goodbye
i want to become a ginsberg poem
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i feel like no matter how badly i fuck up, i will always find some old musician who fucked up more and still made it through
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all rothkos look basically the same
somebody explain to me why im supposed to find them intriguing
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high school musical made me who I am today
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i love woolf and benjamin and wittgenstein and dostoievski
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if david bowie got through the 70s, i can finish this semester
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what a good day to listen to kate bush on repeat and feel a bit sad
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Flaunt Magazine April 2014 “Speak of Me as I Am; Nothing Extenuate” Feat. Michael Pitt by Mason Poole
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my friends dont like me and im lonelyy and im gonna die at 40 and i have class this monday and in terrified
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