I mostly just reblog things. Sometimes I post selfies and artwork.

teenpipefan413:

radioirwin:

radioirwin:

i was in the car with my mum today and she stopped reversing and looks at me and was like “is that a hickey ??? On ur neck ?????? did a boy do that to u ????????? i thought u’d be alone forever on ur laptop.” the hickey was a bruise from where i accidentally shot myself in the neck with a nerf dart while trying 2 recreate a scene in star trek. my life is so pathetic even mum wants me 2 get some

stop reblogging this

Never

(via freewithinboundaries)

Notes
218061
Posted
1 week ago
shakespearean-rose:

phyerfly:

"Those people with stretched ears and tattoos are all bad news."

107,000 NOTES IS NOT ENOUGH.

shakespearean-rose:

phyerfly:

"Those people with stretched ears and tattoos are all bad news."

107,000 NOTES IS NOT ENOUGH.

(Source: likemonuments, via rubylips-rubywrists)

Notes
423960
Posted
2 weeks ago

e-r-w-i-n:

LEVI + 3dmg maneuver gear

(via 0noda)

Notes
4028
Posted
2 weeks ago
dell:

What were you doing in the earliest photo of you?

dell:

What were you doing in the earliest photo of you?

Notes
20681
Posted
3 weeks ago

"Does it have mayo on it? That’s gonna change things, is there mayo on it?"
"How would that -"
"Tell me if it has mayo on it."

(Source: collegehumorgifs, via collegehumor)

Notes
956
Posted
1 month ago
t-ardigrades:

wigmund:

pinkrocksugar:

stunningpicture:

LOOK AT ITS BIG FOOTERS

IMAGINE THE TOE BEANS ON THIS BABBY

(main image source)
Lynx footsies are mostly floof


He can’t have too much bean, he lives in the chilly zone. He’ll get cold beanies and that’s no good.

t-ardigrades:

wigmund:

pinkrocksugar:

stunningpicture:

LOOK AT ITS BIG FOOTERS

IMAGINE THE TOE BEANS ON THIS BABBY

(main image source)

Lynx footsies are mostly floof

image

He can’t have too much bean, he lives in the chilly zone. He’ll get cold beanies and that’s no good.

(via aybaddon)

Notes
114886
Posted
1 month ago
no-stitches:

Who wants to go swimming with someone like this? Covered in nasty scars, attracting pitiful and disgusted stares and uncomfortable questions. Who the hell wants to walk outside in a short sleeve t-shirt and feel like a complete freak…all thanks to your own doing? Or get turned down for jobs because of the sleeve of scars you have given yourself. Summertime sadness is fucking sweating yourself to death In long sleeve shirts and having the majority of society reject you because of what you’ve done to yourself. It’s not this beautiful romantic sadness, it’s fucking SHIT.

no-stitches:

Who wants to go swimming with someone like this? Covered in nasty scars, attracting pitiful and disgusted stares and uncomfortable questions. Who the hell wants to walk outside in a short sleeve t-shirt and feel like a complete freak…all thanks to your own doing? Or get turned down for jobs because of the sleeve of scars you have given yourself. Summertime sadness is fucking sweating yourself to death In long sleeve shirts and having the majority of society reject you because of what you’ve done to yourself. It’s not this beautiful romantic sadness, it’s fucking SHIT.

(via i-wantto-die)

Notes
1323
Posted
1 month ago

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.  (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

I’m really glad I read that.

(via selfesteampunk)

One of my favorites.

(via bajo-el-mar)

(via freewithinboundaries)

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

Notes
231983
Posted
1 month ago

litchfieldprisonblues:

Nicky gets too fucking real man stop seriously just stop talking can you stop now you’re making me really uncomfortable

(Source: orangeis, via ethan)

Notes
12287
Posted
1 month ago

miss-milk:

fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

(Source: sizvideos, via kateordie)

Notes
580739
Posted
2 months ago
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