it is hiiiiiighly likely i am going to do something i’ll regret this weekend, ugh
11:02 pm • 2 May 2013 • 2 notes
Have you ever been having a normal conversation with someone and suddenly had to fight an urge to say “You are EXTREMELY ATTRACTIVE. With your consent, I would like to touch your face and your hair and all your other very exciting bits”?
no me neither
9:13 pm • 2 May 2013 • 7 notes
oracularity:
the most accurate depiction of most mens rights activists i’ve ever seen
(x)
(via prawnmael)
8:38 pm • 2 May 2013 • 13,816 notes
an accurate representation of mine and Errol’s relationship
8:59 pm • 28 April 2013 • 3 notes
I have seen that really annoying persil advert (“my vintage dress has all these weird stains on it bla bla blaaaaah”) and only now have I realised that the girl sitting down doing the nodding is someone i’ve met a couple of times at Buddhist meetings. She is v nice (the first thing she said to me was “YOU’RE VERY BEAUTIFUL. Did you know?”)
actually, come to think of it, I can think of at least 3 other people I know through Buddhist things who have been in adverts for things. weird
(actually it’s probably not weird and more likely that buddhism attracts ~artsy~ people such as aspiring actors. but it is still a bit odd to see someone who used to come round to your house for chanting and cake suddenly on tv or with their face plastered on the walls of tube stations)
7:40 pm • 28 April 2013 • 2 notes
powderdoom:
lavandula:
make up at tao autumn/winter 2008-2009
ultimate inspiration
(via janeavrils)
1:38 pm • 28 April 2013 • 8,423 notes
“Sometimes I just want to get a fake orange spray tan and bleach my hair blonde and wear hollister and a&f and american eagle and uggs exclusively and wear frosted lipglosses and make ducklips faces and care about jersey shore and gossip girl, ecause apparently “nice” dudes hate when girls that because it’s “fake”, it’s “slutty”, it’s overdone/tasteless/”dumb” but screw you. Everything is fake. All persona is persona including what you’ve been conditioned to perceive as a “neutral”/”inoffensive” appearance.
Because i don’t want your “respect”, and I certainly don’t need your advice on how to “respect” a body. I don’t need your fake concern about skin cancer and burns on my scalp when my body doesn’t even feel like mine sometimes, or when breast cancer becomes selling sex to teenage boys who wouldn’t tell you about the lump in your breast they felt while they were feeling you up. Your concern for my body will always be mediocre until it is mine to create/destroy/create, and even then it wouldn’t even matter because you do not inhabit this flesh, or these organs, or this mucus/snot/bile/blood/spit/fluid/fluid/fluid, so stop trying to crawl into my bed of skin, and stop trying to own my ugliness. You can’t have it. Too bad, so sad.
I don’t want you to wait before I leave the room to talk about how gross I am. I want my skin to be greasy and leave big orange stains on every man who touches me and who I choose to touch. I want my hair to make you puke. I want my clothes to remind you of how capitalism lives in tube tops and booty shorts just as well as it does in jeans and a t-shirt or whatever else makes you feel like the girl you want is real “authentic”, real “down-to-earth” or whatever. I want to remind you that every picture is posed. No expression can be pure when you can see the camera and the camera can see you. I want you to know that I spent three hours straightening my hair and putting on my eyeliner over and over again, and removing it over and over again so there’s light grey rings under my eyes, and when I reapplied my lipgloss for the 20th time tonight in the backseat of my best friend’s car it hit a pothole so it’s smudging against my lipliner, and I’m still not “sexy” to your pretentious John Lennon art school ass. My labor is MINE, and it’s ugly because God loves ugly. I wasn’t put on this earth to turn you on. I want to scream and party and grind to terrible club music because I want to scare the life out of you. I want you to go home and post a facebook update about how “our generation is doomed” and get twenty likes from all your pretentious John Lennon art school friends and all your fedora-wearing self-entitled pasty sarcastic bros and all your edgewatch xvx police officers and all your “nice guy” indie rock microbrew date rapists who all secretly wish they could make a man want to remove himself from this earth just by getting a spraytan.
I don’t want you to want to be turned on by me, BRO. I want you to have to look at me. I want to be the bright orange flesh you don’t want to see but you also can’t ignore. I want you to be very, very scared of what is going to come out of my mouth. I want you to cringe at the sound of my voice because it is both too feminine and too loud. Your disgust makes me even louder, even more powerful. And it’s so funny to me, so funny to me, because you know and I know we are both just pretending we aren’t aware that deep down you so badly wish you could be a monster, too.”
— volatile-bambi (via ellesugars)
(via potatogirl2013)
5:04 pm • 27 April 2013 • 1,544 notes
