(Source: chrisisntfunny, via theheartofartemis)


Homegirl on a mission


Homegirl on a mission

(Source: 0925home, via fellowgalaxy)



youre gonna look so godamn cool


(Source: beyoncevoters, via becauseiamawoman)

(Source: tastefullyoffensive, via vanityinthethorns)

(Source: clitzy, via carlsbhadcalifornia)

Oscar The Grouch singing how he loves trash. This song is basically my manifesto.



Thundercats just bein’ cats.

Tim Parker Illustration

(via misandristspook)


I don’t think most of us would really/ choose the elusive green,

The machineless rhythm/ what we don’t talk about is the sacrifice

Mechanism is what we understand/ blind iron mechanism

If given the chance/ to regurgitate the miracle and all its associated bureaucratic caveats

To go back/ tie your shoes, hike up your skirt and start a fire

To return/ to the place where we are not nor have been: a circle of willows

If we could/ transfer the germ, in the end we wouldn’t

Shut blue eyes against the summer and go

Out into the forests

Where the martyrs play cards in their treehouses when nobody’s looking

Before slipping the ropes around their necks and getting back to work

There’s a tendency, a need to view them as necessary/ swinging from the branches

In the house of horrors, hall of mirrors: none of it’s real/ a cheap scare

But out in the forest

Or what’s left of them there’s something more/ unspoken

And I mean something more

Than simple death, the obvious/ Pocahontas died in England of some unknown disease

But we know/ what’s out there is what we deserve/ what it was

Oh we love to talk about it/ without naming it

A gaping hole in the basement to dance around

Call it a well so hauling buckets up from it will seem less strange

We hold conferences in universities and discuss in measured tones: jumping


Well, it’s hard to describe

But there’s something out there

Not a darkness

But rather a lack of light

Out in the places that we instinctually




Instinctually, in the gut

We want them but we can’t bring ourselves to leap

I should stop saying “we” though, honestly

It’s an easy way to defer the blame

I know whose fault the dead trees are

I daydream the soft sound of a flute playing from the leaves

As stupidly as anyone

Like dew on an axe

As easily as anyone

We have this notion of sacrifice/ it would serve me right

Like a fairy tale we tell ourselves while flossing at night in the bathroom mirror

 Pocahontas would probably slit my throat as soon as I closed my eyes

(Source: burntlikethesun, via maratini)