Bunny Sleeps Hugging the House Plant
Happy Bunday! Thanks, Ivy!
DUST BUNNY BEHIND THE PLANT
GPOY
(via biyuti)
Corgnelius Being a Good Big Brother ›
Corgnelius lets Stumphrey attack him
To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.
blua:
Amazing map portraits by Ed Fairburn which make my heart beat faster and my mind light up.
i drew a map of canada with your face sketched on it twice.
(via westcoastdreams)
stella’s gotta get her groove back on the asaps.
I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.
Y'ALL: multilingual queers ›
translating ourselves is a delicate process. be gentle. embrace the intentionality of our native tongues. forgive moments of frustration. our queerness is not always captured in English. and sometimes it won’t feel the same or sound the same in our mother tongues.
find comfort in the process of always searching for words. capture experience over identity. we are complex. we are delicate. it is not always easy to know who we are. it is not always easy to feel that parts of us do not exist in our native tongues.
translating ourselves is a delicate process. honor the stories we tell in place of words we can’t have in our native tongues. honor ourselves. honor our ancestors who have existed in bodies like ours freely. honor that we can be free in a world like this, too.
(via nailpolishandfishsticks)
heavy books
we are taught in school
that the average person
has nothing important to say,
that only the great minds should be studied,
that only those who
have been wounded by
god in the heart and mind
should be memorized
and recitedbut
i have heard stray
comments
from faceless
voices
while waiting for coffee
or buying gum,off-handed lines
that lift me
higher than
the heaviest
books
(via crossedwires)
ditto, pup.
This is a scene from ‘The Caretaker’, the full film will be released with the Immigrant Nation online platform in summer 2012.
The Caretaker is a short film about the relationship between an immigrant caretaker and an elderly woman in the last months of her life. Joesy, a Fijian immigrant, works long hours providing live-in care for 95-year-old Haru Tsurumoto. Through intimate and quiet scenes, we explore Joesy’s complex relationship with Haru. The two respect one another, because at different times, both have felt like outsiders in the U.S. - Joesy as an undocumented immigrant who fears she could be sent back to Fiji, and Haru as a Japanese American who was sent to the internment camps during World War II.
(via yutke)
We’ve been kissing for months. Three times a week our toothbrushes share a chipped porcelain mug in my bathroom. As my lips reach for the juice falling from her laugh, her mom calls. I listen as she talks about Biology, her new job, asks about her sister. Her eyes drop as she whispers, No, I still don’t have a boyfriend.
On cue, I stop chewing. She looks at me, waiting for my face to flush, for me to tear from the bed, but I won’t get mad at her. She shouldn’t have to explain why we can’t go swimming in public, why I don’t own a razor, why she doesn’t need to buy birth control. She hangs up the phone; I pick up the fruit, tell her Apparently, there’s a tiny amount of cyanide in apple seeds.
She shrugs, says she can handle a little danger, but I’ve studied how her dimples disappear when she lies, and I know she’s thinking about a man she could parade around her family, who could kiss her scratchy with stubble. The kind of man I’ll never be.
She squeezes my hand in the movie theater dark but tosses it to the side in front of her friends. Says she just needs time. She walks on the sidewalk. I walk in the street. She closes the door. I kiss it goodnight. She goes home for Thanksgiving. I promise not to call.
If I were a postcard, she could hide me in her pocket. If I were clay, she could mold my body into something easier to love. If I were the guy who sells her a cup of coffee every morning. I could smile at her anonymously, safe as a stranger.
She kisses down my neck, my peel hiding the rotten fruit inside me. As I tell her about the cyanide, her head resting on my chest, she talks about cider, autumn pies. See, she says, Apples are harmless. But she saves the last bites for me, scared to let her lips wander too close to the core.
Miles Walser, “We Eat an Apple In My Bed” from What The Night Demands (via pigmenting)
(via westcoastdreams)
Immature people falling in love destroy each other’s freedom, create a bondage, make a prison. Mature persons in love help each other to be free; they help each other to destroy all sorts of bondages. And when love flows with freedom there is beauty. When love flows with dependence there is ugliness.
A mature person does not fall in love, he or she rises in love. Only immature people fall; they stumble and fall down in love. Somehow they were managing and standing. Now they cannot manage and they cannot stand. They were always ready to fall on the ground and to creep. They don’t have the backbone, the spine; they don’t have the integrity to stand alone.
A mature person has the integrity to stand alone. And when a mature person gives love, he or she gives without any strings attached to it. When two mature persons are in love, one of the great paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone. They are together so much that they are almost one. Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. Only freedom and love.
Osho (via awakeningapril)
(via so-treu)
Vakarufalhi, Maldives, Indian Ocean
(via be-proud-of-yourself)
