sky ferreira ‘night time, my time’ vinyl // limited to 800 copies, record store day 2014
— Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale (via rampias)
But the 8-hour workday is too profitable for big business, not because of the amount of work people get done in eight hours (the average office worker gets less than three hours of actual work done in 8 hours) but because it makes for such a purchase-happy public. Keeping free time scarce means people pay a lot more for convenience, gratification, and any other relief they can buy. It keeps them watching television, and its commercials. It keeps them unambitious outside of work.
We’ve been led into a culture that has been engineered to leave us tired, hungry for indulgence, willing to pay a lot for convenience and entertainment, and most importantly, vaguely dissatisfied with our lives so that we continue wanting things we don’t have. We buy so much because it always seems like something is still missing.
— The Sunflower by Richard Paul Evans (via rampias)
— Voltaire (via rampias)
— Jonathan Safran Foer (via rampias)
— Franz Kafka (via rampias)
I’ve been thinking a lot about what people deserve from other people, like, whether they deserve to know if you have feelings for them, or if you’ve been friends for years, whether they deserve to be the one you go to when you need to talk to someone, or whether they deserve to know what your home life is like, or whether they deserve to know how fucked up you really are.
We have this notion that, at some point, people earn access to these parts of us. But at what point? At what point do we feel like we owe them? This kind of thought process has always troubled me because I’m naturally a very private person, and sometimes I don’t feel like I owe anybody anything. If I choose them, I choose them because I want to, not because they deserve to be chosen.
I think at some point we need to stop expecting people to give pieces of themselves. Those precious pieces may be all they have left, they may be the bones holding them together. And you are not entitled to that, not one bit. You only deserve what you’re given.
— Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis (via mercurieux)