akithefrivolitious:

Millie and Accalia are the best pirates ever. 

Oh my gosh they’re beautiful <3 Which reminds me. I SHOULD REPLY.

timber-wheels:

DSC_7645 januari (by Ton van der Weerden)

<3

explore-blog:

Truth from Debbie Millman’s visual poem “Better”. She knows a thing or two about life.

This is your annual reminder that the Salvation Army is full of homophobic assholes, and that you shouldn’t give your money to them.

Any brothers who claim their working in the Lord’s name and still won’t help the ‘least of these’ are NOT GETTING ANY MONEY FROM ME.

EVER.

AND THEY SHOULDN’T GET IT FROM YOU, EITHER.

[x]

No no no no no. Oh my gosh. 

100TH POST

YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS! 

(I don’t care what people say. I love this song. Legitimately love this song. In a non-ironic way) 

What Skyrim Looks Like When You’re Running 100 Mods At Once

x

I guess this is the point when video games become more breathtaking to behold then real life. 

They are now superior at everything :| 

amandapalmerphotos:

snapped just before crowd surfing through bottom feeder at the koko gig. thank you.

http://www.alexmooreillustration.co.uk/

THAT SONG. THIS MOMENT. When she falls into the crowd and her dress spreads out to cover everyone? My heart stopped, even watching the clip.

Psalm

I’ve been learning how to be still
and stop picking my other lives off the trees like cherries,
daydreams where I am loved by a shawled man
who puts me on his piano and kisses my knees,

learning to peel back all the layers of ache
she buried me in, all the lusting for affirmation
the idolatry of self and the altar that always
demanded more blood sacrifices.

It’s ironic.
That I, harpy-winged-swan-maiden-warrior-poet
goblin prince, sun-drenched and ugly
spent years, dripping and digging
building up a self to protect me, a self to win
the comfort of knowing that screened my poor girl’s soul
and worried me to pacing,
all since the day the black horse came
and the golden afternoon of my girlhood
committed their infidelity.

Funny. Unicorns are suppose to love virgins
but somehow mine still left me.

This is my great unwinding.
Like a spool of thread, I am turning, again and again
arms above me, sunlight reaching spans of pink-white
flesh that feels like it hasn’t seen the air in centuries.
I want to laugh, even when it’s hurting, even when
I’m tender and horrified by the things I did in the name of
vanity.

The yarn is blue, and I am still spinning,
for the rest of my life I’ll be twirling, like a dervish,
and like their white cloaked ecstasy every step
is bringing my closer to Savior, Hero, Prince,
Breathing.

I am losing me. 
It was once prophesied that I would write psalms
and, dear God, let this be the beginning. Let this
be the first line of the singing:
I. Am losing. Me.
Every uncurled finger a relief, the fear and hesitant
aching replaced with my soul, breathing deeply,
space cleared for it to stretch like a 
cat in the summer, purring. 
The more dreams and pieces of my identity I abandon,
the more I receive: peace, joy, liberty,
a freedom that leaves me screaming, truly screaming,
fall colors streaming down either side of the windshield 
as I am speeding towards my goal -
home, both here and other,
and the arms of the eternity.

if this is your definition of hope