16 5 / 2013
04 5 / 2013
I think it’s time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women, be real to our women
And if we don’t we’ll have a race of babies
That will hate the ladies, that make the babies
And since a man can’t make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one“Rap is just noise”
Look at that terrible rap music, poisoning the minds of our youth.
(via fabulouslyfreespirited)
04 5 / 2013
Cecily Brown: The Performance (1999)
“The lovers are shocking, caught in this act, larger than life, existing in no particular room, no known place, furnished only by the paint that spools and gathers about them like turquoise ectoplasm. A performance is exactly what this is, a brash, magnificent, heartless staging.” - Kate Kellaway, The Observer, Saturday, July 2005
(via elcocotecomera)
04 5 / 2013
- Yo: *stabs you in your chest*
- Yo: You're bleeding because you don't floss.
04 5 / 2013
Kirsty Mitchell’s late mother Maureen was an English teacher who spent her life inspiring generations of children with imaginative stories and plays. Following Maureen’s death from a brain tumour in 2008, Kirsty channelled her grief into her passion for photography.
She retreated behind the lens of her camera and created Wonderland, an ethereal fantasy world. The photographic series began as a small summer project but grew into an inspirational creative journey.
‘Real life became a difficult place to deal with, and I found myself retreating further into an alternative existence through the portal of my camera,’ said the artist. (read the rest here).
(via skyyrawrs)
04 5 / 2013
"
Don’t ask me about his lips. The way they ruby and burn. Stretch full over white teeth. Soft with desire, taut like a drum. I want him to make music of me.
Don’t ask me about his hands. The way they are scarred with stories. How they slide thick down his legs as I stare. Mouth cotton; eyes hungry.
Don’t ask me about my hunger. The way my stomach drops tight when he looks at me. The way my palms itch for his bones. His tongue. Don’t ask me about my fear. The way he comes to me.
How I open my mouth to say “Yes” and it comes out “I’m sorry.”
"
04 5 / 2013
you are my sunshine
my only sunshine
you make me happy
when skies are gray
you’ll never know dear
how much i love you
please dont take
my sunshine away
this is the most beautiful post i have ever seen I’m my life
Becca, you are my french fried.
04 5 / 2013
unlearning problematic behavior is a long ass process
you will fuck up
handle it gracefully.
(via avocadh0e)
