If Disney movie titles were literal.

Yeah, no seriously what is the last one……

The Black Cauldron.

I thought it was creepy as hell when I was a kid.

She’s Supposed to Die.

Enough Said

(Source: greglastrade)

I finally remembered the helpless feeling that i felt around this time, last year. It always comes back to me, when i trg to work, when i try to read, try to talk. I was always a cynical girl, and i realise again, with the gory inevitability of period blood on ny underwear each month, the extent of the cynicism my personality seems to harbour for everything around me.

I found my old blog from a number of years ago. It just struck me how lacking the writing was in precariousness and nervousness, how unapologetic I seemed and it just made me so sad. Sad for a girl who spent her teenage years crying over boys who would never worship her, calcutating what would make friends remain friends, wondering what was wrong with herself trying to navigate her own changing world as well as the pulses of her own body. The posts still carried the same sardonic bitterness that i would see in my own thoughts 3 years later. What would i have done to be happy?

Three years on, not much seems to have changed. I’ve moved on from a tumultuous year with a tumultuous lot of people. Yet in the dark nights lit up by the cold harsh glow from my computer screen, i feel inside myself a struggle to reconcile my responsibilities about uni, my relationship duties, family responsibilities and just…..myself. The political pervades the personal. I just never thought that the political not just pervades, but consumes, destroys and shatters the personal.

Type A personality. Yet I yearn for dependency. I show my boyfriend some of the posts, trying - mostly for my benefit - to piece together a past that exists only on diary entries. Some part of me hopes that he will understand the sheer gravity, the great urgency of this; i absolutely must see myself as a whole, i must piece my 16 year old self together. A little part of me drops an octave in mood when he doesnt seem to care much. It scares me how comfortable i am in dependency. But more impirtantly, how can anyone understand me if they don’t see that me, three years ago, cries to be pieced together?

Do i live upto any standards, set by myself or others? I see how my psyche has begun to suffer underneath this pressure. Orange juice and eggs in the morning may look cheerful, but even they cannot be privy to the sense of isolation i feel within myself.

First they came…


First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist.

Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out 
Because I was not a Trade Unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me
And there was no one left to speak for me.

Martin Niemöller

  • Men: Not ALL men.
  • Men to their daughters: Yes, all men. Every single one of them.

"What are you thinking? What are you feeling? What have we done to each other? What will we do?" - Gone Girl (2014)

(Source: mashamorevna)

Anonymous asked:
Um, but how do you fuck with unshaved legs?




how are hairy legs an impediment to have sex

what kind of sex are u having that requires 100% shaved legs friend

Foreplay is actually more challenging… kissing your way up a hairy thigh feels weird for both of you. @spacestepmom may be having very unstupendous uninteresting sex

if hair on legs kills ur weak ass foreplay game u were probs never good at it to begin with lmfao

"My response to the “I am not a feminist” internet phenomenon….

First of all, it’s clear you don’t know what feminism is. But I’m not going to explain it to you. You can google it. To quote an old friend, “I’m not the feminist babysitter.”

But here is what I think you should know.

You’re insulting every woman who was forcibly restrained in a jail cell with a feeding tube down her throat for your right to vote, less than 100 years ago.

You’re degrading every woman who has accessed a rape crisis center, which wouldn’t exist without the feminist movement.

You’re undermining every woman who fought to make marital rape a crime (it was legal until 1993).

You’re spitting on the legacy of every woman who fought for women to be allowed to own property (1848). For the abolition of slavery and the rise of the labor union. For the right to divorce. For women to be allowed to have access to birth control (Comstock laws). For middle and upper class women to be allowed to work outside the home (poor women have always worked outside the home). To make domestic violence a crime in the US (It is very much legal in many parts of the world). To make workplace sexual harassment a crime.

In short, you know not what you speak of. You reap the rewards of these women’s sacrifices every day of your life. When you grin with your cutsey sign about how you’re not a feminist, you ignorantly spit on the sacred struggle of the past 200 years. You bite the hand that has fed you freedom, safety, and a voice.

In short, kiss my ass, you ignorant little jerks.”

Libby Anne (via awelltraveledwoman)

(Source: dumbledoresarmy-againstbigotry)