solarpunkarchivist:

I love how the romantics were unable to tell if they were feverish or experiencing an (1) emotion.

thelnfinitywar:

lord-kitschener:

I just saw some article about how leg makeup is a summer beauty essential, and that’s how I know we’re in hell! Ladies, it’s your duty to #empower yourself by covering your entire fucking body in a sarcophagus made of contoured concealer ($275.50 from sephora) so that the general public doesn’t end up vomiting en Masse and forever shunning you after being forced to witness how unforgivably disgusting, offensive, ugly, and un-instagrammable your uncovered skin is!!!!!

slowitdowngoeasy:

feministperalta:

Raise your hand if Darren Criss calling his award “totally awesome” sent you back 10 years

dissemblist:

tilthat:

TIL the book ‘Walden’ by Henry David Thoreau is often seen as a ‘bible’ for self-sufficiency enthusiasts. However, while many picture Thoreau as a hermit in the woods, his cabin on the lake was about a mile from town, where he would often go to visit his mother, who did his laundry for him.

via reddit.com

this is every libertarian ever

fruiteatingwhore:

not to flex but i never saw la la land

nicollekidman:

every time i have a particularly hectic day at work i just think… keep your head up queen your future airpods are falling 

tristealven:

“It is too much, she thought, I will relinquish my possession of this self of mine, abdicate, give over willingly what I never wanted at all; whatever it wants of me it can have.”

— Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House 

elucubrare:

elucubrare:

Galatea

No, do not pity me. Do not pit
the years I could have had,
my stone growing old and pitted,
against these years I will have,
when my skin will wrinkle
and I will grow old. Do not mourn
the common lot of humanity.

Commiserate with me, ladies of Cyprus,
who know, too, what it is to be desired
only if you can be moulded to specifications
of some man’s choice – cry out with me
if you’ve been told you were beautiful
“except those hands!” for my hands were made
to be beautiful. My lips were made for one man
and one man alone. Weep with me, O Cypriot
wives, if you’ve lain alone beside your man
and thought of something more: for my body
being channeled and chiseled, primped and painted,
I have determined to let my mind go free.

Let Pygmalion love the statue that is my body.
He will get no more from me, by Aphrodite,
than if I’d remained marble. I will lie beneath him,
cold and motionless, and think cold thoughts of stone.  

@stripedroseandsketchpads