"Every relationship after your first relationship is just a different version, but each time we’re trying to make it right."

— Sorry I couldn’t get it right the first time. (via n4ughty-y)

(via realivt)

proudlyunicorn:

I wish lesbians were as easy to find in real life as they are on tumblr

(via lostgrrlgeek)

thepeoplesrecord:

egoting:

Some pictures from the rally today at Columbia. So much wonderful support for my sister and I! Emma and I are truly grateful to everyone who came, and everyone who was there in spirit.

Emma, you are such a fierce source of inspiration. Solidarity, sister <3

"Einstein invents himself a brother and puts him in a rocketship to prove a point, says Thought Experiment and means Playground, gets into an elevator and begins to fall through space at the speed of falling through space. It feels like acceleration. It looks like the absence of gravity. He’s writing it down on the back of his hand and giggling. Either he’s made a mistake in his math or everyone else in the history of the world is wrong. He gets back into his elevator again and whoops and screams a little. He says Trust me. He says These things take time."

— Richard Siken, from “Ornithopter” (via bhalbers)

"Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars for you?"

— Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain (via victory-vomit)

"I am tired of being mysterious. You are drinking rum next to the laughing skullheads and I am unhappy because I am dead and I miss you."

— Richard Siken, Unhappy Hour. (via zjhussain)

amillion-smiles:

"Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them." ~Richard Siken

*thinks of Makoto and Haru*

S L A Y

M E

lanasblunt:

evilbjork:

Lea Seydoux and Adèle Exarchopoulos 

(via girlsgasm)

wintercart:

this is my favorite part of kill bill

(Source: spookycart, via artpopvenusguy)

hipinuff:





 Salvador Dalí (Spanish: 1904- 1989), Desert Landscape (paysage désertique),  c.1944-45. Oil &amp; tempera on canvas.
 

hipinuff:

 Salvador Dalí (Spanish: 1904- 1989), Desert Landscape (paysage désertique),  c.1944-45. Oil & tempera on canvas.

 

(via vangoghld)

austinkleon:

William Styron, Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness

Last night @craigmod tweeted:


  If you cannot begin to empathize with someone taking their own life, I suggest reading Darkness Visible… Styron’s book is only 80 pages. Truly an important read


I picked it up last night and finished it today. Some bits, below.

On the inadequacy of the word “depression”:


  When I was first aware that I had been laid low by the disease, I felt a need, among other things, to register a strong protest against the word “depression.” Depression, most people know, used to be termed “melancholia,” a word which appears in English as the year 1303 and crops up more than once in Chaucer, who in his usade seemed to be aware of its pathological nuances. “Melancholia” would still appear to be a far more apt and evocative word for the blacker forms of the disorder, but it was usurped by a noun with a blank tonality and lacking any magisterial presence, used indifferently to describe an economic decline or a rut in the ground, a true wimp of a word for such a major illness.


How part of the problem with depression is that it’s somewhat beyond description, and almost impossible to fathom for those of us who haven’t experienced it:


  Depression is a disorder of mood, so mysteriously painful and elusive in the way it becomes known to the self—to the mediating intellect—as to verge close to being beyond description… it has to be emphasized that if the pain were readily describable most of the countless sufferers from this ancient affliction would have been able to confidently depict for their friends and loved ones (even their physicians) some of the actual dimensions of their torment, and perhaps elicit a comprehension that has been generally lacking; such incomprehension has usually been due not to a failure of sympathy but to the basic inability of healthy people to imagine a form of torment so alien to everyday experience.


Styron, however, does what he can to describe it to us:


  The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come — not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute. If there is mild relief, one knows that it is only temporary; more pain will follow. It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul. So the decision-making of daily life involves not, as in normal affairs, shifting from one annoying situation to another less annoying- or from discomfort to relative comfort, or from boredom to activity- but moving from pain to pain. One does not abandon, even briefly, one’s bed of nails, but is attached to it wherever one goes.


Recommended.

austinkleon:

William Styron, Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness

Last night @craigmod tweeted:

If you cannot begin to empathize with someone taking their own life, I suggest reading Darkness Visible… Styron’s book is only 80 pages. Truly an important read

I picked it up last night and finished it today. Some bits, below.

On the inadequacy of the word “depression”:

When I was first aware that I had been laid low by the disease, I felt a need, among other things, to register a strong protest against the word “depression.” Depression, most people know, used to be termed “melancholia,” a word which appears in English as the year 1303 and crops up more than once in Chaucer, who in his usade seemed to be aware of its pathological nuances. “Melancholia” would still appear to be a far more apt and evocative word for the blacker forms of the disorder, but it was usurped by a noun with a blank tonality and lacking any magisterial presence, used indifferently to describe an economic decline or a rut in the ground, a true wimp of a word for such a major illness.

How part of the problem with depression is that it’s somewhat beyond description, and almost impossible to fathom for those of us who haven’t experienced it:

Depression is a disorder of mood, so mysteriously painful and elusive in the way it becomes known to the self—to the mediating intellect—as to verge close to being beyond description… it has to be emphasized that if the pain were readily describable most of the countless sufferers from this ancient affliction would have been able to confidently depict for their friends and loved ones (even their physicians) some of the actual dimensions of their torment, and perhaps elicit a comprehension that has been generally lacking; such incomprehension has usually been due not to a failure of sympathy but to the basic inability of healthy people to imagine a form of torment so alien to everyday experience.

Styron, however, does what he can to describe it to us:

The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come — not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute. If there is mild relief, one knows that it is only temporary; more pain will follow. It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul. So the decision-making of daily life involves not, as in normal affairs, shifting from one annoying situation to another less annoying- or from discomfort to relative comfort, or from boredom to activity- but moving from pain to pain. One does not abandon, even briefly, one’s bed of nails, but is attached to it wherever one goes.

Recommended.

(via moral-disorder)

parkingstrange:

xoheart-on-her-sleeve:

sassy-satan666:

unmutekurloz:

raspberryskittles:

dion-thesocialist:

isn’t there a part of the bible where god gets mad at a fig tree for not having any figs on it and curses the fig tree?

yeah there legit is that’s 100% true

Yes.



Oh my god

last time we reblogged this we got anon hate from the christian community. You guys really are passionate about your figs.

parkingstrange:

xoheart-on-her-sleeve:

sassy-satan666:

unmutekurloz:

raspberryskittles:

dion-thesocialist:

isn’t there a part of the bible where god gets mad at a fig tree for not having any figs on it and curses the fig tree?

yeah there legit is that’s 100% true

Yes.

Oh my god

last time we reblogged this we got anon hate from the christian community. You guys really are passionate about your figs.

(Source: the-inspired-lesbian, via vegancatinist)

"There’s two kinds of women—those you write poems about and those you don’t."

— Jeffrey McDaniel (via observando)

(via langleav)