fishslut:

of-the-yellow-ajah:

unbuttonedinawood:

i never thought i’d write the words “deeply evil carpet” but. seriously. what a deeply evil carpet that is.

And what you should do is to put this over an actual trap, like a hole in the floor so people will be like “Oh ha ha ha that’s soooo funny, it’s a rug!” And then fall through it. 

are you satan

fishslut:

of-the-yellow-ajah:

unbuttonedinawood:

i never thought i’d write the words “deeply evil carpet” but. seriously. what a deeply evil carpet that is.

And what you should do is to put this over an actual trap, like a hole in the floor so people will be like “Oh ha ha ha that’s soooo funny, it’s a rug!” And then fall through it. 

are you satan

I couldn’t get to sleep. The book lay nearby. A thin object on the divan. So strange. Between two cardboard covers were noises, doors, howls, horses, people. All side by side, pressed tightly against one another. Boiled down to little black marks. Hair, eyes, voices, nails, legs, knocks on doors, walls, blood, beards, the sound of horseshoes, shouts. All docile, blindly obedient to the little black marks. The letters run in mad haste, now here, now there. The a’s, f’s, y’s, k’s all run. They gather together to create a horse or a hailstorm. They run again. Now they create a dagger, a night, a murder. Then streets, slamming doors, silence. Running and running. Never stopping.

Ismail Kadare, Chronicle in Stone (via observando)