Take a look at me, but then close your eyes
Each post carries a piece of me. Take a look at them, then close your eyes and try to piece them together. What do you see?
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Quote reblogged from Highway of Endless DreamsTrue love is when you’re standing in line for Chipotle, and you say, “I shouldn’t get guacamole,” and the great love of your life says, “You know what, just get the guac.” And then you go home, and you watch TV together while eating burritos. That’s true love.John Green (via musesofagypsy)
(Source: ignobel)
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Quote reblogged from a writer and nothing else:The real horror here is that Boys Don’t Cry was based on a true story. Brandon Teena was a real person, who was really brutally raped and killed. The scene that McFarlane is making a sexualized joke out of really happened to a real human being who really died. Because according to McFarlane, breasts exist for men’s amusement, and the total violation and murder of people with breasts is just a big joke because the bodies of women and FAAB people are just hilarious.
When McFarlane reduces Swank’s amazingly powerful performance down to a punchline about her body, he’s doing more than making light of her talent. He’s literally inviting people to laugh at rape and murder. He’s construing breasts as existing for men’s pleasure, whether sexual pleasure or just to make fun of, all the time—even when they belong to people, like Brandon Teena in Boys Don’t Cry, who identify as men. Even when they are exposed as part of a badly injured body, like Charlize Theron in Monster—another film based on a true story. Even when they symbolize the racist sexualization of black women by white men, like Halle Berry in Monster’s Ball. Even when they’re visible during a violent gang rape, as passerby cheer the attackers on, like Jodie Foster in The Accused, once again based on a real-life attack. Even when, like Scarlet Johansson, another target of the boob song, personal nude photographs of them were leaked without consent.Anya Josephs, Sexism is Not Actually “Edgy” | SPARK a Movement (via sparkamovement) -
Quote reblogged from I must remember this:So, because some men have managed to sexualize stretchy yoga pants, that means stretchy yoga pants are now inappropriate/slutty/cause for “alarm.” Because the standards for what it’s okay for women to wear should be dictated by men’s libidos. Nearly every woman I have talked to about this — in the office, on Facebook, on Twitter — has echoed the sentiments of the women commenting on the GMP piece: we wear yoga pants because they are comfortable. Period. The suggestion that we A) wear them because we want sexual attention from men and B) that therefore they shouldn’t be worn in scenarios in which that attention would be “inappropriate” takes all the responsibility for controlling male lust off men and places it on women. And that is some bullshit.
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Quote reblogged from It's an adventurous life my friendPeople are just as wonderful as sunsets if I can let them be…when I look at a sunset, I don’t find myself saying, ‘soften the orange a bit on the right hand corner’. I don’t try to control a sunset. I watch with awe as it unfolds.Carl Rogers (via middlenameconfused)
(Source: lightgrenade)
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Quote reblogged from Gold LinenIt is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare.Mark Twain (via goldenlinen)
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Is there a cure for restlessness? I want to leave, rip the map from my wall and drive. I feel too young, too potent, and far too large for my body. I am not any of those things, I am old enough to feel ashamed for crying in public, helpless enough to settle, and just large enough that I take too much space, but not enough for anyone to take notice. Give me thicker blood that runs slower underneath so that I am not so impatient, an old heart, worn out and broken from young love so that I don’t fall for every stranger with a pair of bright eyes and one way tickets to beautiful cities. Better yet, make me reckless and unafraid, because I am not brave enough for restlessness and dreams and big cities with bright lights, and the only thing worse than being a coward is being a coward with dreams too big and desperate for cowardice.
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Quote reblogged from Kait Payne.Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike.Albus Dumbledore (via kaitmpayne)
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Photo reblogged from Look at this tangle of thorns
natk:
I’ve been dreaming of all the places of the world. I’m nineteen and still have pictures collected from travel magazines and brochures plastered across my wall. A reminder of the ultimate dream. Everything I do is to get me to these places. I want to see the great Machu Picchu, nestled between high water-colour Mountains, blanketed in a mantle of cloud. I want to walk the vaulted corridors of Angkor Wat, the lost city of spires and tiers and lotus-bud towers, and stretch myself out across the riddled floor knowing that I am touching the same surface the ancients once treaded. I want to stand in front of the Giza pyramids, neck craning up and sun glinting off stone, with the rising feeling that swells like an ocean tide - the desire to be so much more eternal, an embedded bookmark in History’s pages. Italy. I want everything about Italy. The coliseum of Rome, where gladiators lived, feared, won glory and died in transitory, fleeting moments under my feet. Venice, with the sunlight sprinkled over labyrinth waterways. Or a sky as grey as stone, hazy ambience and canals wrinkled by tapping rain. I want to see a Venetian fog, slithering in as heavy as fear, the air like dense cotton, creasing against buildings and puckering over water. Stone melting into each stride, unravelling the Palazzo like a gift - a vat of opaque nothingness. How eerie the muffled ghost voices slicing through the fog, severed from the source. Ah, and let’s not forget Positano, a shackling of houses ledged across the mountain face, the sheltered curve and curling streets of Amalfi Coast – Italy’s seaside gem. Greece. Chalk white stone of Santorini, Zakynthos’ inviting, cerulean waters or the Parthenon perched atop Athens like a sentry. How do you describe perfection? I could go on forever. When I was younger I wanted to see everything, and by this I mean every single rock and tree, every inch of beaten earth. I still do. I want to gather it all in my arms, like pinching the tattered edges of a map and folding it up together, to carry with me and peek at when I wish. I want to exist everywhere, in everything, all at once.
