Everything you love is here
1. Stop faking your fucking orgasms. Society already tells young men that they run the fucking universe - if they can’t turn your cunt into a shooting star then for god’s sake, let them know about it.
2. Once you’ve stopped faking your fucking orgasms, use this newfound honesty throughout the rest of your life - stop ordering coffee you don’t actually like; stop sitting at a desk and allowing people to treat you like shit in the hopes that a meek attitude will earn you a promotion (it won’t); stop telling people they can finish your food when you’re not actually done yet. These may seem petty, but they add up, just like every orgasm you didn’t actually get to have.
3. If you wanna dance all night, dance all fucking night. Dance all night even if you have work in the morning. The worst that will happen is you’ll drink RedBull all day and look like a zombie - pass it off as a head cold to the real zombies you work with and flick through the embarrassing photos you’re being tagged in as you pretend to take a shit for some peace and quiet. I promise, you’ll remember dancing all night in ten years, not the suspicious way your boss looked at you that morning.
4. If your ass looks big in that, that’s a good thing.
5. You will never be as young as you are this second. Embrace it.
6. Embrace the fact that you’re going to get older. Ask your boyfriend if he will still love you when you’re seventy and your tits are down to your knees. Look forward to this time - seventy year old women are allowed to do pretty much whatever they want, and no-one can stop them. You can carry candy in your bag and not share it with a single soul. You can stay home all day and cross-stitch expletives onto handkerchiefs for your grandchildren and slip them under the table out of sight of the people you raised. You can drink whisky at 10am. Every phase of your life is going to be amazing for different reasons. Embrace that.
7. A lot of people will pretend to love Bukowski. Don’t pretend to love Bukowski if you don’t love Bukowski. It’s overplayed and no-one will mind if you actually like Virginia Andrews instead - the people who do mind are boring."
— Some more little life lessons, by Daisy Lola. (via lilgivenchyprincess)
OMG look at that… Im back on youtube.
Attic workspace with great features, namely, that skylight!
Happy Thanksgiving to all our followers in the US today.
The bigger issue with Miley Cyrus is her complete obliviousness to the differences in public reaction when it comes to herself versus black people. When Miley Cyrus plays at ratchet, we get three reactions: fangirls/fangays spooing all over themselves telling the internet how much they love her, non-fans giving deep eyerolls and moving on to the next, and middle-aged white people making vague statements about how they’re “concerned” about her state of mind. The reaction she does not get is that if she were shot by a neighborhood watchman, then she deserved it because she flips the bird and does drugs and glamorizes hoodrat behavior.
That’s my problem. My problem is black kids like Trayvon Martin play at being ratchet everyday and the rest of America looks at them like they’re all budding criminals. The defense in that case put Trayvon Martin’s character on trial, by wanting us to infer that he was headed down the wrong path to prison anyway. Because of a few Myspace photos and a toxicology report, we should be glad we got that thug off the streets. They turned him into a thug for doing the exact same things that Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber do, the exact same things that millions of little white kids do in their gated communities, driving around in Daddy’s SUV listening to old-school NWA and rolling spliffs and bragging about it on social media.
That is what white privilege looks like. If you are a white apologist who continuously doubts that white privilege exists, ask yourself if Miley Cyrus or any other 20-year-old white girl would be put on trial posthumously if someone shot her for walking around in a hoodie. That is the definition of white privilege."
Each time I’m asked to tell about myself, I find myself starting the same way: “My name is Kelsey and I’m nineteen..”
but what I’d really like to say is:
“My name means island of the ships but once
I found a translation that said I’m a burning shipwreck-
not a burning ship but a ship that has caught fire
after the wreckage and well, I’d say that’s more fitting.”
I’ve learned that people don’t have time for about me’s.
They need two things: a name and an indication you’re someone special.
The doctors, they want facts not details.
“I broke my leg when I was three, it’s a funny story actually-“
The right or the left?
The teachers, they want interests, hobbies.
You’re sad, yes, but what do you like to do?
The adults are a spew of questions.
What school do you go to? What classes are you taking?
What do you plan on becoming? Got a boyfriend?
People my own age are the worst.
“I’m planning on an English degree with a concentration in creative writing.”
Yeah, aren’t we all. So how many times have you, you know,
I’m pulled apart, my interests travelling highway 2
my goals at a stop light at traffic hour,
my medical history on a billboard for the world to see.
But what about me?
Where’s the chance to say,
“I hang on to fistfuls of poetry like loose change in my pockets,
and I keep waiting for the day that the world turns upside down
so I can swim with the stars.
I’m not afraid of darkness, it’s a loneliness I can empathize with it.
It’s the blackholes like cigarette burns inside of me that get troublesome.
I walk through graveyards and read the dashes between years,
each a story I’ll never know. Sometimes I create my own.”
No wonder none of us know who we are anymore."
That line though… "I hold on to fistfuls of poetry like loose change in my pocket."
YOU NIQQAS WANNA LEARN ELVISH?! HERE YA GO!
is this legit?
This is legit. My husband, sitting across the room, looks over and says, “IS THAT SOMEONE SHOWING HOW TO CONVERT ENGLISH TO TENGWAR? BECAUSE THAT’S THE WAY!”
Believe this man. He owns atlases of Middle Earth, the complete history of Middle Earth (leatherbound), and has read the books at least 150 times. Also: speaks elvish.
What if there are two vowels in a row?
Does anyone know the answer to that last question?
THIS IS SO EXCITING
THIS IS SO COOL OMG
i do not owe you an explanation for my existence
i do not owe you forgiveness for your ignorance or rudeness
i do not owe you answers to your overly invasive and personal questions
i do not have to jump through hoops to prove myself to you