woven in my soul

real-faker:

Wait what the hell is that room way in the back on the ground floor?

Did I miss something in the last 25 years?

(Source: mysimpsonsblogisgreaterthanyours)

wickedclothes:

Navy / Green Striped Cat Hoodie

Help your cat chase some tail by giving them a stylish new hoodie. Crafted from lightweight cotton, this garment will keep your cat comfortable and in style during any season. Sold on Etsy.

officialunitedstates:

officialmexico:

texas

no you can’t have it back stop asking

they call themselves the Guardians of the Galaxy

(Source: iamnevertheone)

(Source: jongritte)

This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.

Gary Provost (via tuongexists)

Holy crap, what just happened there… (via cyrusgabriel)

Words, man. Words.

(via bookoisseur)

(Source: qmsd)

'Assassination’ (x)

(Source: margaey)

vablatsky:

The things I do for love

(Source: a-torvs)

Fashion Do’s or Dont’s: Bindis

kruelkids:

As a little girl, I loved getting ready for Indian weddings. It was one of the few occasions my mom would let me wear her red lipstick. Right before we would leave she would call me into her room and let me pick out a bindi to wear to go along with my colorful lengha. Back then I only understood bindis as pretty sparkly celebratory stickers that would eventually slide around my sweaty forehead on the dance floor.

As I grew up more and more people informed me I was not really American, I was Indian, and not just Indian, I was “dot-not-feather-Indian.” I was mocked for that dot. People would put stickers on their foreheads, chant fake prayers, roll their eyes back and bobble their heads. “Look, I am Indian too.” Their ignorant fallacy of Indians was boiled down into that dot and burned into my skin.

One halloween my Mom and older brother were sweet enough to take me trick-or-treating around the neighborhood. I wore fairy wings and my brother had a Scream mask on. I remember my brother being embarrassed my Mom was wearing traditional Indian clothes, but I didn’t understand. Why were we allowed to wear silly costumes, but my Mom was not allowed to wear her real clothes? It started to get dark out and my Mom was worried, but I begged to stay out a little longer. As we rounded a neatly trimmed cul-de-sac a group of white boys on bikes slowed down. They began shouting things at us. Then they started pelting eggs at us. My brother ran after them and they took off. Later, he explained that they had been yelling at us for being Indian. For simply being. My Mom was silent the entire walk home. 

In college, my first American boyfriend told me that when his friends found out I was dot-Indian they asked if my pussy tasted like gross curry. It made my face burn red and my eyes well up as I finally came to the understanding that despite being born and raised in New York I would forever be considered a foreigner to these people. It didn’t matter if I wore clothes like them or spoke like them. I will always be a dot.

If I were the same little girl who was just excited to wear lipstick to weddings I wouldn’t care about you wearing a studded bindi to your EDM concert, but being called shitskin really changes things. I have been branded with this dot since I was born, along with every stereotype it holds. My dot is not a fad for you to wipe off when you are done with it. You cannot pick and choose with parts of my culture you will welcome into America with open arms for fashion’s sake while still barricading my family out.