“Ruin them. Wreck their lives. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Hushaby. Lullaby. Die, dog. Little dog, die.”
James Joyce, Ulysses (via robcam-wfu)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

itscolossal:

Paintings by Michael Kerbow Warn of Dire Consequences for Current Actions
itscolossal:

Paintings by Michael Kerbow Warn of Dire Consequences for Current Actions
itscolossal:

Paintings by Michael Kerbow Warn of Dire Consequences for Current Actions
itscolossal:

Paintings by Michael Kerbow Warn of Dire Consequences for Current Actions
itscolossal:

Paintings by Michael Kerbow Warn of Dire Consequences for Current Actions
“Becoming someone’s everything and then leaving is the worst thing to do to a person.”
— (via soulsscrawl)

(via hollowsouls)

heartyglobe:

filed under: things celebrities say that the media sweeps under the rug to continue making controversy over them being “awful role models”
heartyglobe:

filed under: things celebrities say that the media sweeps under the rug to continue making controversy over them being “awful role models”
heartyglobe:

filed under: things celebrities say that the media sweeps under the rug to continue making controversy over them being “awful role models”
heartyglobe:

filed under: things celebrities say that the media sweeps under the rug to continue making controversy over them being “awful role models”
heartyglobe:

filed under: things celebrities say that the media sweeps under the rug to continue making controversy over them being “awful role models”
heartyglobe:

filed under: things celebrities say that the media sweeps under the rug to continue making controversy over them being “awful role models”

heartyglobe:

filed under: things celebrities say that the media sweeps under the rug to continue making controversy over them being “awful role models”

(via maedaeparade)

dreamyblu:

after u watch the anaconda video

image

(via lordemusic)

theatlasofbeauty:

Tibetan women in Xiahe, China
theatlasofbeauty:

Tibetan women in Xiahe, China
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!
professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] 

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!

professorfangirl:

iwriteaboutfeminism:

Monday night. Part 8.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7

This Tumblr journalist compiles tweets into reports that have been like rough drafts of the mainstream news—only twelve hours ahead of time. Thanks, Samantha!

(via maedaeparade)

humansofnewyork:

"I want to discover the cure for Ebola."

(Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo)

It has never been easy. When I was sixteen, I knew every potentially fatal thing in my house: Nail polish remover under the sink. Bottle of rubbing alcohol beside it. Hammer in the tool box. Forty foot bridge across the highway. Traffic outside my window.

I thought about slamming my own head against a counter until I lost feeling. I thought about punching myself in the face until I stopped breathing. I thought about running out into the street at two a.m. and waiting until a car came.

I never thought I’d make it to twenty-five. But I told myself to stay. Just for a little longer. Just to see.

So I did. I sat silent amongst my friends, searching for a way to speak. I stopped leaving my house. I swapped sleeping for staying up all night, staring at my bedroom walls. When someone came into my room to talk to me, I started crying. But I stayed. Because I thought, if I plan on dying in a few years anyway, what do I have to lose? And some days I didn’t feel like I was being swallowed whole. Some days I sat by my pool and sang until the sun set. Some days I kissed somebody on their parent’s couch and didn’t feel lonely when I got to my own bed. Some days I listened to a really great song and felt understood, if only for a second.

I stayed. And still I thought about bridges. And hammers to the head. And swallowing acetone to cleanse my insides. But slowly slowly slowly I began to understand that it was okay to cry, and shake, and feel anything but okay. I realized that there would still be days that my fist would rise to my cheek. And still, my face would sometimes resemble a bruised peach.

But now I tear up my lists of potentially ways to die before I complete them. I replace prescription: pills, rubbing alcohol, and razors with memories of the good days. Of holding your hand through the entire state of Oregon. Of running half-naked down a snowy street three New Year’s ago. Of riding go-carts in the Canadian wilderness. Of smoking cigarettes on the beach in San Francisco with someone I met six months ago. If I had left, we would not know each other.

If you feel the same way, stay. For the good days. And the sunsets. And the people out there who understand. Stay because being submerged in black water does not mean you have to drown. Stay. Just for a little longer. Just to see.

Stay | Lora Mathis 

(via lora-mathis)

(via lora-mathis)