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Glam meets Glamorous: David Bowie and Elizabeth Taylor, 1975, by Terry O’Neill
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when will stevie nicks come and roundhouse kick me in the face
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I’m waiting for that brief moment of bliss
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I’m done. Privilege doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had the world handed to me on a platter yet still every day I add more details to how/where I’m going to kill myself.
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Enough of this. I’m out.
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Sometimes I think about how I’ll never meet or know Freddie Mercury because I was born seven years after he died and it fills me with this really inexplicable sense of loss.
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at this point I’m only alive because I have a Queen ticket
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Ugo Matania - A French Underground Hospital at Verdun, 1917.
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More of that weird Swedish police body armor I posted.
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