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clavid:

ay-drian:

hold up lemme just cut these fucking onions on the train
ok

she looks so stressed like if she doesn’t cut those onions jigsaw is going to make her cut off her leg

clavid:

ay-drian:

hold up lemme just cut these fucking onions on the train

ok

she looks so stressed like if she doesn’t cut those onions jigsaw is going to make her cut off her leg

(via xlionhearted)

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dalekstripper:

eurovision, you try valiantly every year, but just remember NO ONE will ever be able to beat Ukraine’s 2007 entry

(via ceciliaford)

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adamusprime:

pumpkinshallucination:

hahahahaahahahah god ahahahahahahhaahhahahah

they probably paid tens of thousands of dollars pounds for this

£400,000 in fact :(

adamusprime:

pumpkinshallucination:

hahahahaahahahah god ahahahahahahhaahhahahah

they probably paid tens of thousands of dollars pounds for this

£400,000 in fact :(

Quote
"BE QUIET, TIFFANY, BE QUIET! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? STOP IT! I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE YELLED AT A GIRL LIKE THIS. WHEN MY MOTHER YELLS LIKE THIS IT’S BECAUSE SHE LOVES ME. I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU, WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU. HOW DARE YOU? LEARN SOMETHING FROM THIS. WHEN YOU GO TO BED AT NIGHT, YOU LAY THERE AND YOU TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOURSELF, ‘CAUSE NOBODY’S GONNA TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOU. YOU ROLLIN’ YOUR EYES AND YOU ACTING LIKE THIS BECAUSE YOU’VE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE. YOU’VE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE, YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE THE HELL I COME FROM, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’VE BEEN THROUGH. BUT I’M NOT A VICTIM, I GROW FROM IT, AND I LEARN. TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOURSELF."

Sylvia Plath (via incorrectsylviaplathquotes)

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Tags: hi Beth
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(Source: rewak, via liamdryden)

Photoset

(Source: luxstellum, via janksy)

Video

televisualindecency:

“At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke.
I’d watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos,
but I could never make dying beautiful.
The sky didn’t fill with colors the night I convinced myself
veins are kite strings you can only cut free.
I suppose I love this life,

in spite of my clenched fist.

I open my palm and my lifelines look like branches from an Aspen tree,
and there are songbirds perched on the tips of my fingers,
and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath
the first time his fingers touched the keys
the same way a soldier holds his breath
the first time his finger clicks the trigger.
We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.

But my lungs remember
the day my mother took my hand and placed it on her belly
and told me the symphony beneath was my baby sister’s heartbeat.
And I knew life would tremble
like the first tear on a prison guard’s hardened cheek,
like a prayer on a dying man’s lips,
like a vet holding a full bottle of whiskey like an empty gun in a war zone…
just take me just take me

Sometimes the scales themselves weigh far too much,
the heaviness of forever balancing blue sky with red blood.
We were all born on days when too many people died in terrible ways,
but you still have to call it a birthday.
You still have to fall for the prettiest girl on the playground at recess
and hope she knows you can hit a baseball
further than any boy in the whole third grade

and I’ve been running for home
through the windpipe of a man who sings
while his hands playing washboard with a spoon
on a street corner in New Orleans
where every boarded up window is still painted with the words
We’re Coming Back
like a promise to the ocean
that we will always keep moving towards the music,
the way Basquiat slept in a cardboard box to be closer to the rain.

Beauty, catch me on your tongue. 
Thunder, clap us open.
The pupils in our eyes were not born to hide beneath their desks.
Tonight lay us down to rest in the Arizona desert,
then wake us washing the feet of pregnant women
who climbed across the border with their bellies aimed towards the sun.
I know a thousand things louder than a soldier’s gun.
I know the heartbeat of his mother.

Don’t cover your ears, Love.
Don’t cover your ears, Life.
There is a boy writing poems in Central Park
and as he writes he moves
and his bones become the bars of Mandela’s jail cell stretching apart,
and there are men playing chess in the December cold
who can’t tell if the breath rising from the board
is their opponents or their own,
and there’s a woman on the stairwell of the subway
swearing she can hear Niagara Falls from her rooftop in Brooklyn,
and I’m remembering how Niagara Falls is a city overrun
with strip malls and traffic and vendors
and one incredibly brave river that makes it all worth it. 

Ya’ll, I know this world is far from perfect.
I am not the type to mistake a streetlight for the moon.
I know our wounds are deep as the Atlantic.
But every ocean has a shoreline
and every shoreline has a tide
that is constantly returning
to wake the songbirds in our hands, 
to wake the music in our bones,
to place one fearless kiss on the mouth of that brave river
that has to run through the center of our hearts
to find its way home.

—Birthday, Andrea Gibson

(Source: youtube.com, via homosexualheartthrob)

Video

xfawnx:

thedailywhat:

Marriage Proposal of the Day: The planning! The dorkiness! The tears!

So imperfect it’s perfect.

[thanks, rob!]

I have never seen a more perfect marriage proposal =’D

Link

f33ny:

Let me tell you about my friend Ian. First, he looks like this:

Second: Ian loves One Direction more than anyone I have ever seen. 

Listen, I know there are a lot of people in this contest, and a lot of them are here on Tumblr, and while I won’t start to play the “who deserves it more” game, let me tell you why you should click on Ian’s link.

Ian loves One Direction in a way I don’t think anyone else ever could. He loved them before I had even heard of them, and he was the first person I ever saw post about them on my dashboard. He forced everyone around him to listen to them and he talked about them all the time and it was, frankly, a little irritating, but I love him dearly so it never mattered. 

I’m not a One Direction fan. I don’t get the hype. But Ian loves them - pure, unadulterated love. That’s pretty rare. So do me, and Ian, a favour and help him out. All you have to do is click.

(via ceciliaford)

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gabriellaerica:

What if men were photographed the way women typically were? I love this!

(via ceciliaford)

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(Source: halliebadger, via safarizone)

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I think I love this poem

thepianofarm:

CHICKEN STORM by Jeremy Radin

Musta been like a thousand chickens come flyin’ up from the other side’a 

that hill. I spent my whole life knowin’ them chickens couldn’t fly & then 

here they come, a sunrise’a crazy brown feathers, up from the other side’a 

that hill. Ain’t no explanation for it, I know that. My wife, well, she stood 

next t’me, squeezed my hand & said oh kinda soft, as the chickens p’kew-

wwwed into the clouds. They disappeared in them clouds. Then the next 

thing, there’s eggs everywhere, fallin’ from the sky. & each time them 

eggs hit the ground & burst like watermelons, there’d be more chickens. 

Tiny chickens – but not chicks, y’see,  grown-up adult chickens, but ti-

ny like yer fist or yer knee or a cup’a coffee, that’d go zoomin’ up after 

them original chickens & droppin’ eggs’a their own & then tinier chick-

ens came from them eggs & so on & so forth til there’s chickens the 

size’a houseflies & dust mites & most likely chickens ya can’t even see 

& we’re standin’ baffled in a hurricane’a chickens or dust cloud’a chick-

ens or like a flashflood’a chickens. & in the barn the horses are screamin’ 

like they got necks full’a devils. Just stampin’ their hooves & screamin’, 

like maybe scared out their damn minds. Or maybe like us.  Me & this

woman, my wife, whose ticker’s a good onion, who’s pressin’ her lips 

t’my lips in the middle’a this chicken storm like maybe we always been 

this young.

from his upcoming book Slow Dance With Sasquatch. It’s pretty awesome.

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brother-down:

My IQ just dropped. My brain. It hurts.

wow

(Source: neil-gaiman, via homosexualheartthrob)

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[Flash 10 is required to watch video]

(Source: manwithpenis, via xlionhearted)