1. mothballmilkshake:

    When I’m dating a man I’m no longer bisexual

    Just like when I’m at home, I’m no longer employed

    Or when I’m not studying I’m no longer a student.

    Mmm object impermanency 

    (via incitatusforconsul)

     
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  3. clambistro:

    Now for me some words come easy
    But I know that they don’t mean that much
    Compared with the things that are said when lovers touch
    You never knew what I loved in you
    I don’t know what you loved in me
    Maybe the picture of somebody you were hoping I might be

     
     
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  5. mdthwomp:

    Unfriendly reminder that in America it’s reasonable to say an unarmed black kid deserved to be shot six times because he might have robbed a convenience store, but a white kid shouldn’t be kicked off the high school football team just because he violently raped a girl.

    (via page-of-ellen)

     
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  8. elfauno:

    Finally, some good advice from Cosmo

    (via jurassic-cunt)

     
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  11. (Source: britcroft, via alittlefragile)

     
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  13. "…the older I get, the more I see how women are described as having gone mad, when what they’ve actually become is knowledgeable and powerful and fucking furious."
     

  14. "

    He is taking a course on Marxist ideology.
    He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.”
    His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen,
    He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents,
    Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face
    Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background.
    The matte finish is fucking gorgeous.
    He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars
    To teach him that the system is unfair.
    He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves.

    What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV
    Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch.
    Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open
    So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest.
    What you can’t tell from Harvard square,
    Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once,
    It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs.
    Tear gas is such a benign term for it,
    If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience.
    What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble,
    Is that when they rush you, survival is to run,
    I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me.
    I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet…
    We still do it.

    I inherited my communist manifesto,
    It has no cover—
    Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote”
    The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment,
    Looking for subversive propaganda.
    She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages,
    Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read,
    They never found it.
    So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber,
    For wanting her children to have a better life than she did,
    Don’t talk to me about revolution.

    I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that.
    The price of uprise is paid in blood,
    And not Harvard blood.
    The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago,
    The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic.

    It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library.

    It is easy to offer flesh to the cause,
    When it is not yours to give.

    "
    — 

    Catalina Ferro, “Manifesto” (via dialecticsof)

    I feel like people do need to remember that there is a very real, very painful, very human element to the word “revolution”.

    (via nuanced-subversion)

    (Source: sincerely-the-end, via incitatusforconsul)

     
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