Do You Want To See The World?

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Mon, 20 May 2013 16:18:26 +1000

bosstiel: YA LIT MEME (6/10 series or books) —-> Daughter of...

Sun, 19 May 2013 20:17:22 +1000

YA LIT MEME (6/10 series or books) —-> Daughter of Smoke and Bone

“She had been innocent once, a little girl playing with feathers on the floor of a devil’s lair. She wasn’t innocent now, but she didn’t know what to do about it. This was her life: magic and shame and secrets and teeth and a deep, nagging hollow at the center of herself where something was most certainly missing.”

“I find it hilarious that whenever I light up, Americans look...

Sun, 19 May 2013 19:33:35 +1000

“I find it hilarious that whenever I light up, Americans look at me like I’m going to urinate on their children.”

minccinorris: the best fucking vine video ever

Sun, 19 May 2013 19:31:08 +1000

minccinorris:

the best fucking vine video ever

We were good, weren’t we? We were better than that.

Sun, 19 May 2013 19:28:58 +1000

We were good, weren’t we? We were better than that.

"Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are..."

Sun, 19 May 2013 19:15:00 +1000

“Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive.”

- Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (via thatkindofwoman)

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Sun, 19 May 2013 17:14:01 +1000

hornycannibalducks: Minimalist Posters » The Wolves of...

Sun, 19 May 2013 15:00:30 +1000

hornycannibalducks:

Minimalist Posters » The Wolves of Mercy Falls Characters

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Sun, 19 May 2013 13:11:35 +1000

as if men had a monopoly on murder.

Sun, 19 May 2013 12:54:04 +1000

as if men had a monopoly on murder.

That was the thing. You just never knew. Forever was so many...

Sun, 19 May 2013 12:31:44 +1000

That was the thing. You just never knew. Forever was so many different things. It was always changing, it was what everything was really all about. It was twenty minutes, or a hundred years, or just this instant, or any instant I wished would last and last. But there was only one truth about forever that really mattered, and that was this: it was happening.

starskeeper: Suits Punch Reel

Sun, 19 May 2013 12:29:32 +1000

starskeeper:

Suits Punch Reel

⌘ sushi & sashimi ⌘

Sat, 18 May 2013 13:08:35 +1000

⌘ sushi & sashimi ⌘

The Nakba. May 15, 1948.

Thu, 16 May 2013 20:19:04 +1000

thelowercasearab:

Today marks the 65th year of Palestine’s Nakba. Palestine’s catastrophe. It’s been 65 years since the ongoing dispossession and theft of Palestine, the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians, the expulsion of most of the Palestinian population - including many of our families for those reading this, and the destruction of towns, homes and villages, all carried out to make way for the creation of the colonialist project and apartheid state we know as Israel today. They celebrate “independence”, and we tell them to fuck off with their glorification of bloodshed and dispossession. Don’t you dare rewrite and spread another history.

Nakba is not just the commemoration of one day in 1948. There was Nakba in the lead up to 15.05.1948. And it stuck around. It is a current day reality. Nakba is now. It is found in the millions of refugees who cannot return home to Palestine. During the past six decades, Palestinians have experienced massacres and displacement. They are controlled and occupied. They have little rights, freedoms, choices and self-determination. The one thing Palestinians have been afforded is the burden of apartheid. Because of their ethnicity. Their ancestry. Something they, we, have no control over. I grimace to think of year 66, year 67, year 68…

Today, and everyday - always - I commemorate the Palestinian Nakba, and Nakbas everywhere. All fights for justice and equality and human dignity are connected. All Nakbas are tied together. And we stand together.

Favorite hairstyles ➜ Spencer Hastings

Wed, 15 May 2013 18:49:27 +1000

Favorite hairstyles ➜ Spencer Hastings

caterinasforzas: what to wear when…eying the clock on the last...

Wed, 15 May 2013 16:28:11 +1000

caterinasforzas:

what to wear when…eying the clock on the last day of class. she jams her feet between the bars of the under-seat basket attached to the desk one row up. the rubber of her sneakers squeaks as they squeeze through. tick, tick, tick, the minute hand jerks one notch over. her planner’s pages are puffy from spilled lattes and being propped open. her pens are almost empty. mechanical pencil lead lies in splinters in her bag somewhere. her doodles, confined at first to notebook margins, invade whole pages. this invasion begins benignly enough: she inks in letter-loops, feeding her Bs, Qs, Os, and other yawning mouths. then, from paper edges creep gel pen patterns. eventually, the tic-tac-toe grids shrink and shrink, hunching between blue stripes. spirals snake into every blank space, even the ruffled strips of paper cut up by wire binding. tick, tick, tick. her notes, now swallowed by scrawl, are illegible anyway underneath her designs. her desk is carved up into crags and canyons. pencils skid over the rocky surface, which sends lines flying and punches puckered holes in the paper. tick, tick, tick. she sometimes imagines that her desk is a map whose key needs decoded. her fingerpads travel the familiar terrain. though decades old, the corner fortress of J+L 4EVER still stands strong. tick, tick, tick. to the west winds the river of cubs suck (in cursive, as apparently this rivalry runs deep enough to warrants artistry). gag dicks litter the middle. with their own pens, students who sit in this desk trace the ditches dug by those before her. as a result, ink of every color.can be found in the scraped-out grooves in chronological order like sedimentary strata. black over red over blue over black once again. on this jagged-ridged, scribble-riddled archaeological site of a desk, her fingers tap, tap, tap in tune with the tick, tick, tick. like the multi-colored ditches on her desk, she too can be excavated and split into tidy layers. a letterman jacket over a cardigan over a cami over a pink bikini top. tick, tick, tick, her appealing, all-american outfit is a secret belligerence on her part.she dressed this morning for the day that she wanted to have, not the one she’s having. aspirational aesthetics are her favorite flavor of “fuck you.” i do not want to be at school, so she dumps her books out of her backpack and replaces them with gummy swedish fish. i want to be free, and so she wears flip-flops too impractical to run to class in and a skirt two inches too short to meet the dress code standards. today is not the last day of class, it is the first day of summer, so she wears a bikini with beads at the ends of the straps that clink when she raised her hand. her sartorial defiance has catchy rhythm, click, click, click. the boys next to her can’t figure out what causes it and keep jerking their heads around, convinced that her beads are nearby buzzing bees. click, click, click. tick, tick, tick, the clock agrees. the clock and her, they share a language. they have a clicking, ticking contract. she gives her four years, her eight hours a day, time spend in concrete boxes, time spent inhaling chalkboard dust. that’s her end of the deal. the clock owes her freedom. the clock promises an end. it’s slow on follow-through though. tick, tick, tick. time moves like molasses - it’s slow; it sticks to itself; it could be the death of her (boston molasses disaster is faintly visible underneath her doodles). she shouldn’t be here. it’s summer! or it will be in two hours and twelve minutes. eleven now. tick, tick, tick. her bare skin sticks to the seat of her chair when she crosses her legs. she peels her thighs free with a suction-y, smacking sound. her blood runs hot, she’s always been told. her body leaves its heat long after she’s left. leaned-against lockers, boy torsos, and today, a chair seat. what she gets from this, from her hot blood, is that she’s mean to be outside. heat seeks heat. she should be in the sun. two hours and nine minutes now. tick, tick, tick.

post 518 of an infinity-part series

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Tue, 14 May 2013 18:53:06 +1000

fala7idreams: Aida Refugee Camp Bethlehem, Palestine

Tue, 14 May 2013 17:54:09 +1000

fala7idreams:

Aida Refugee Camp

Bethlehem, Palestine

"If you think that the nice guy ranting only happens on the internet, you’ve never had to deal with..."

Mon, 13 May 2013 19:52:28 +1000

“

If you think that the nice guy ranting only happens on the internet, you’ve never had to deal with your thoroughly drunken friend shouting about how no girls would go out with a nice guy like him, even though he’s surrounded by single women he ignores because they aren’t attractive enough for him.

If you think guys getting pissy and escalating matters because you told people to stop making sex jokes is a feature of the internet, well, you’ve never asked anyone to stop making jokes that make you uncomfortable.

If you think that inappropriate comments and requests for sex are an internet thing, you’ve never tried to stop a coworker or boss from hitting on you repeatedly, or a head of security, or the guy at the convenience store across the street.

If you think that being shouted at and asked to show people your tits just because you present as a woman only happens in chat rooms and online games, you’ve never walked past a frat house, or, unfortunately, through the main thoroughfares of either university I’ve attended.

If you think unasked for commentary on a woman’s looks only happens because girls post pictures on internet forums (which probably means they’re asking for it), you’ve never been at a bus stop, or the city square, or a mall, or… well, anywhere, really.

If you think insecure men trying to drive women out of activism only happens in online male-dominated communities, you’ve never paid attention politics. Or Fox. Or CNN, sadly.

If you think the reaction to rape victims is bad on twitter, try sharing that experience in person. Or try even standing up for a rape victim. Count how many minutes until someone points out “but men can be falsely accused! The woman just changed her mind! You just can’t believe those drunk *insert varying level of insulting reference to gender*!”

”

- It’s Not Just the Internet. It Never Has Been.

(via loveyourrebellion)

the wasted years, the wasted youththe pretty lies, the ugly...

Sat, 11 May 2013 18:59:42 +1000

the wasted years, the wasted youth
the pretty lies, the ugly truth