bricks in the wall it's 2:45 in the morning
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bustysaintclair:

Kids please don’t think that it’s unusual or special to be dating someone with whom you can watch netflix and eat pizza and hold hands and also have hot sex with

It concerns me when I see millions of notes on a post that’s like “fuck me hard but also be sweet with me”

Like what kinds of relationships are you in that you think this is a revolutionary thing to ask

(via bigbootyshayna)

In the old days, pre-Dark Side of the Moon, Pink Floyd played to audiences which, by virtue of their size allowed an intimacy of connection that was magical. However, success overtook us and by 1977 we were playing in football stadiums. The magic crushed beneath the weight of numbers, we were becoming addicted to the trappings of popularity.
I found myself increasingly alienated in that atmosphere of avarice and ego until one night in the Olympic Stadium, Montreal. Some crazed teenage fan was clawing his way up the storm netting that separated us from the human cattle pen in front of the stage, screaming his devotion to the “demi-gods” beyond his reach.

Incensed by his misunderstanding and my own connivance, I spat my frustration in his face. Later that night, back at the hotel, shocked by my behavior, I was faced with a choice. To deny my addiction and embrace that “comfortably numb” but “magic-less” existence or accept the burden of insight, take the road less traveled and embark on the often painful journey to discover who I was and where I fit.

The Wall was the picture I drew for myself to help me make that choice.

Roger Waters, Summer 1995. Written on The Wall exhibit in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  (via adorablebonzo)

(via among-all-the-wildflowers)