wave(s) crashing

28/08/14 15:07

i want you to write novels on my skin,
your lips make me feel like ink.

london is so quiet tonight

a series of early mornings and late nights. one long sleep and shaking dreams. i need your voice but i don’t know whose.

weissesrauschen:

Yndi Halda by dragan goranov on Flickr.

seventsm:

How can you understand a person that doesn’t understand themself?

geniusplaylist:

Stand beside it, we can’t hide the way it makes us glow

It’s no good unless it grows, feel this burning, love of mine…

My response to the ‘I am not a feminist’ internet phenomenon….

First of all, it’s clear you don’t know what feminism is. But I’m not going to explain it to you. You can google it. To quote an old friend, “I’m not the feminist babysitter.”

But here is what I think you should know.

You’re insulting every woman who was forcibly restrained in a jail cell with a feeding tube down her throat for your right to vote, less than 100 years ago.

You’re degrading every woman who has accessed a rape crisis center, which wouldn’t exist without the feminist movement.

You’re undermining every woman who fought to make marital rape a crime (it was legal until 1993).

You’re spitting on the legacy of every woman who fought for women to be allowed to own property (1848). For the abolition of slavery and the rise of the labor union. For the right to divorce. For women to be allowed to have access to birth control (Comstock laws). For middle and upper class women to be allowed to work outside the home (poor women have always worked outside the home). To make domestic violence a crime in the US (it is very much legal in many parts of the world). To make workplace sexual harassment a crime.

In short, you know not what you speak of. You reap the rewards of these women’s sacrifices every day of your life. When you grin with your cutsey sign about how you’re not a feminist, you ignorantly spit on the sacred struggle of the past 200 years. You bite the hand that has fed you freedom, safety, and a voice.

In short, kiss my ass, you ignorant little jerks.


by Libby Anne (via dillondean)
I started promising myself to
never stay anywhere I’m not
very much wanted. I have too
many scars to be breaking
my bones to fit into places
that weren’t made to fit me.
by anne, maybe I always feel out of place because I’m always placing myself where I don’t belong.  (via syndesmologya)

13/07

the blossom of your chest in the firelight
and the way the sand crept up your left calf,

the salt water sounds like a meditation tape 
and you are the breath that brings clear clouds
to the crowded sounds behind my eyes

visual-poetry:

by thomas broomé
softpyramid:

Shirin Neshat with Sussan DeyhimLogic of the Birds2001

softpyramid:

Shirin Neshat with Sussan Deyhim
Logic of the Birds
2001

musicbloge:

José González - Heartbeats

'Tell me what happens the first time you see a woman naked.'

'The first time you see a woman naked will not be like you imagined. There will be no love, no trust, no intimacy. You won’t even be in the same room as her.

You won’t get to smile as she undresses you and you undress her. You won’t get to calm her nerves with nerves of your own. You won’t get to kiss her, feeling her lips and the edge of her tongue. You won’t get to brush your fingers over the lace of her bra or count her ribs or feel her heartbeat.

The first time you see a woman naked you will be sitting in front of a computer screen watching someone play at intimacy and perform at sex. She will contort her body to please everyone in the room but her. You will watch this woman who is not a woman, pixelated and filtered and customized. She will come ready-made, like an order at a restaurant. The man on the screen will be bigger than you, rougher than you. He will teach you how to talk to her. He will teach you where to put your hands and he will teach you what you’re supposed to like. He will teach you to take what is yours.


by (via blakebaggott)

bromar:

*goes to england*

me: excuse me, what time is it?

brit: time wots that m8?

*big ben chimes*

everyone starts to count the bongs on their fingers*

brit: OI IT’S 7 BONG