(via Show and Tell - Imgur)
I remember reading this a while back, I’m glad it’s made it’s way to my dash again
things like this are more important than 90% of tumblr
I SCREAMED CUTE
HELLO YES 999 I JSUT ATE A VERY MOULDY BLUEBERRY BY MISTAKE AND ID LIKE MY TONGUE REMOVED
999? You mean 911?
I think if I ordered an ambulance from America I’d be a little bit scuppered since I livE IN ENGLAND AND ITS AN AWFULLY LONG DRIVE
?I just want to write someone’s favorite book.?
- just found out a new sherlock trailer came out
- and that sherlock will be having a fourth season (even though the little fooze faces haven’t come out with their third)
- my great aunt, great uncle, and great grandma moved to california two months ago AND NO ONE TOLD ME
- my aunt came down to visit
- korean dramas are shit (not the shit. they are shit)
nom nom an eventful thanksgiving break so far
i’m looking forward to ending this year on a hopeful note
and i wants to go shopping except this friday is quite unfortunately black friday, which is irksome.
a couple fantastic Avatar cosplayers!
More over at my Facebook page! If you see yourself or someone you know, let me know!
I like how you mispronounce words sometimes, how you fumble and stammer and stutter looking for the right ones to say and the right ways to say them. I appreciate that you find language challenging, because it is, because everything manmade is challenging. Including man, including you.
When you sleep on your side, I like to map the constellations between your beauty marks freckles pimples, the minuscule mountains that sprinkle your back. I like the tufts of hair you forgot to shave and the way you smell when you haven’t showered in a while; I like the sleep left in your eyes.
I like the way your skin dies in the middle of the night, how you die from embarrassment the next morning; how you writhe in the snake casing you’ve left behind. I like that you think pillow snowflakes carry more weight than pillow talk; that you think my opinion of you is so fickle that it could change overnight. (It’s not.)
I enjoy seeing you insecure, vulnerable. I like to watch red steam light up your cheeks, a spreading mist of shame when you think you’ve done something unacceptable like missing a step on the stairs or not having the perfect answer to something I’ve said. It’s like you honestly don’t know how wonderful you are, it’s like you have no idea.
The burns, the scars, the black and blues on your face body heart, I want to know their stories. I want to know what hurt you, who hurt you, how bad the damage is. I like your hard, ugly toenails and the layer of fat that lines your belly, the soft parts you try to hide. It’s okay to be soft, sometimes.
I appreciate your ability to get inappropriately angry as much as I appreciate your willingness to apologize afterward. I like how your passion manifests unpredictably and uncontrollably, how your feelings cannot be caged or concealed, how you’re incapable of apathy.
I like how you can’t dance, how you have pedestrian taste in music, how the worst song on every album is your favorite. I like how enthusiastic you are when you hear it, it’s like you don’t know how terrible it is, it’s like maybe how you’re able to love someone like me. (Perhaps that’s your biggest flaw, perhaps that’s the one I love most.)
Your flaws single you out, set you apart, make you different from the rest, and thank god. I don’t just put up with settle for accept your blemishes, I like them. I like them because they make you human, and humans are easier to love than photographs and illusions and ideals; humans fit more easily between arms and between legs; humans are welcome to their imperfections because if there’s one thing humans can do perfectly, it’s love. Humans can love, they can do it flawlessly.?
"I Like Your Flaws" by Stephanie Georgopulos
seduce me with film references
"OGRES ARE LIKE ONIONS! THEY HAVE LAYERS."
?If anyone thinks that Christians regard unchastity as the supreme vice, he is quite wrong. The sins of the flesh are bad, but they are the least bad of all sins. All the worst pleasures are purely spiritual: the pleasure of putting other people in the wrong, of bossing and patronising and spoiling sport, and backbiting; the pleasures of power, of hatred. For there are two things inside me, competing with the human self which I must try to become. They are the Animal self, and the Diabolical self. The Diabolical self is the worse of the two. That is why a cold, self-righteous prig who goes regularly to church may be far nearer to hell than a prostitute. But, of course, it is better to be neither.?
it felt like i knew you…, 2012 - ongoingI ride the NYC subway trains, usually in the evening when the seats are full. I focus on the shape of the space between the person sitting next to me and myself. I attempt to mentally and emotionally re-sculpt that space. In my mind, I reshape it- from the stiff and guarded space between strangers to the soft and yielding space between friends. I direct all my energy to this space between us. When the space palpably changes, and I completely feel like the stranger sitting next to me is my friend, I rest my head on that person’s shoulder…
This is awesome.