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pokemean:

youngharlemshawty:

World Population : 7,810,521,683 

just in case somebody start feelin too important

7,810,521,682 and me

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(via beconeal)

Source: highcheekboneshawty
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New Statesman | Let's call the Isla Vista killings what they were: misogynist extremism

kierongillen:

piratemoggy:

Really, really strong piece by Laurie;

The ideology behind these attacks - and there is ideology - is simple. Women owe men. Women, as a class, as a sex, owe men sex, love, attention, “adoration”, in Rodger’s words. We owe them respect and obedience, and our refusal to give it to them is to blame for their anger, their violence - stupid sluts get what they deserve. Most of all, there is an overpowering sense of rage and entitlement: the conviction that men have been denied a birthright of easy power. 

Capitalism commodifies that rage, monetises it, disseminates it through handbooks and forums and crass mainstream pornography. It does not occur to these men that women might have experienced these very human things, too, because it does not occur to them that women are human, not really. Women are prizes to be caught and used or hags to be harassed or, occassionally, both.

Laurie is incandescent here. 

(via hatfights)

Source: piratemoggy
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"In order to understand what is taking place, we have to interpret Walter Benjamin’s idea that capitalism is really a religion literally, the most fierce, implacable and irrational religion that has ever existed because it recognizes neither truces nor redemption. A permanent worship is celebrated in its name, a worship whose liturgy is labor and its object, money. God did not die; he was transformed into money. The Bank—with its faceless drones and its experts—has taken the place of the church with its priests, and by its command over credit (even loans to the state, which has so blithely abdicated its sovereignty), manipulates and manages the faith—the scarce and uncertain faith—that still remains to it in our time. Furthermore, the claim that today’s capitalism is a religion is most effectively demonstrated by the headline that appeared on the front page of a major national newspaper a few days ago: “Save the Euro Regardless of the Cost”. Well, “salvation” is a religious concept, but what does “regardless of the cost” mean? Even at the cost of sacrificing human lives? Only within a religious perspective (or, more correctly, a pseudo-religious perspective) could one make such plainly absurd and inhuman statements."

- Agamben, “God Didn’t Die, He Was Transformed Into Money” (Libcom)

(via fuckyeahexistentialism)

Source: thephilosopherinparadise
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thepianofarm:

At the feast inside my heart, there are many who may eat for free. Myself included. It was probably New Orleans 2003. In either what we call the Yellow Room or what we call the Ocean Room. I was back home after seven years in Savannah Georgia. My mother was living in China. My sister had just moved to Hawaii. My brother started his first year at Carleton. It was just me and Pops. I felt that in the time my mother lived in a different country, he went to a lot of movies to fill his time alone. He was so happy to have me around. We would eat out, have cheeseburgers. I didn’t know what I was doing with my life. I was so lonely. My heart was so full and so heavy. I missed Savannah and the people it had given me for all those years. Goddamn I missed that city. I would leave the house some nights around 11pm and drive around for hours. Downtown. Through the Quarter, past Esplanade into the Marigny. Listening to music. A lot of Nada Surf. I would sit at the Rue De La Course coffeeshop on Oak Street plotting and sketching a graphic novel about airplanes and a girl I loved and leaving a city that loved me and about going to movies by myself and about making a comic book about all these things that would never appear. I got a job at the Rue since I was there all the time and cute girls worked behind the counter. I cut sandwiches, made lattes, and smelled like coffee grounds. When I worked in the evening, I’d get off and sometimes go get a burger from Camellia Grill before they closed. I’ve been eating there since I was five years old. None of the same people work there but they all treat you like they have and they remember you. I made friends with my coworkers. Talked indie rock with Jack. Talked art with Ed and Doug McQueen. Talked shit with Tim “Cougar” Perkins. Joined him at Brother’s on Magazine after our shift. Watch the old cowboys sitting at the bar. Joke over the jukebox.  I wanted to kiss Ann and Leila and Evelyn. I never did. But I might have could have. And while sometimes that feels worse, sometimes that feels better. And years later laying in Ann’s bed watching the sun come up in Chicago, I felt thankful. Ann and I rode bicycles through the Bywater. She stopped for a raspberry beer. I became friends with Rebecca and in the springtime of New Orleans fell in love. She taught me scales on the piano and told me about the giant clock in Prague. Doug, Ed, and I sat outside the Race Street cafe in the warm darkness planning an art show. It was at the SPACE Gallery, upstairs on Magazine. I put paintings in it with them. People filled the space we made together. I did poems. I didn’t want to. I felt little. But a woman with a broken leg said she had come out just to hear them. My heart can be smoothed when in the palms of people. Some nights after work, after Brother’s or the Buddha Bar or Camellia Grill, after the flowers of the faces, I’d come home and watch Nova until just before dawn. It was probably actually only a couple times. I had started fucking around with a guitar the summer before leaving Savannah. When Allyson and Kristie beautifully let me mend on their couch for my last two months there, I would practice my stupid little songs, scared of my ugly voice but wanting to hear it get better. After moving back home I had gotten a mini Tascam 4 track recorder. And when Pops went to visit Mom in China, I would stay up all night, bending my guitar through the microphone, beating a rhythm out on the Kentwood water bottle, recording the echoes I would sing into it, learning how to make songs without the knowledge to do so, learning how to howl my inside in only the way that I know how. Making music on the floor of my parents’ house I felt a little broken but also a little bit bigger, like I was standing my voice up before me, seeing what shape it had, unsure of when the light would rise but knowing it was on its way.

Source: thepianofarm
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kyos-cock:

So I accidentally discovered this picture while i was looking for cute things to crochet and THERE ARE ENTIRE BLOGS DEDICATED TO TURTLE COZIES.

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THEY LOOK SO CUTE THEY HAVE NORMAL ONES

THEY HAVE ONES THAT LOOK LIKE FUCKING BOWSER

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THEY HAVE ONES SHAPED LIKE ANIMALSimage

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THEY HAVE ENTIRE BLOGS DEDICATED TO MAKING YOUR TURTLES LOOK LIKE FOOD

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THE PUMPKIN IS SO CUTE BUT THIS GEM IS MY PERSONAL FAVORITE:

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BUT HOW DO YOU CHOOSE A FAVORITE WHEN THEY’RE ALL SO CUTE

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(via beconeal)

Source: kyos-cock
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humansofnewyork:

"My kids are teenagers now, and they’re going off on their own. And you understand it, but it’s hard for it not to hurt. Like the day you realize you’re not allowed in your daughter’s room anymore. Or when your son doesn’t want you to show him how to do something. The relationship tends to ebb and flow between ‘help me’ and ‘leave me alone.’ But lately, it’s been much more ‘leave me alone.’"

Wait is that Bob Odenkirk??

Source: humansofnewyork
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EM EYE ESS ESS EYE ESS ESS…

anthonybourdain:

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What do I—a pig ignorant Yankee—know about Mississippi? What could I ever understand about growing up in the Delta, that peculiar and heavy mix of guilt, rough pride, obstinacy, sentimentality and cynicism?
(Answer: Next to nothing)

Let me be honest about this right up front: before I…

Source: anthonybourdain
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robotindisguise:

universalequalityisinevitable:

David Suzuki in this interview about facing the reality of climate change and other environmental issues from Moyers & Company.

Source: youtube.com
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theskieswillfall:

aegisaglow:

sik3rning:

Feeling down? here have some bouncy goats

kids these days

you did not

theskieswillfall:

aegisaglow:

sik3rning:

Feeling down? here have some bouncy goats

kids these days

you did not

(via beconeal)

Source: sik3rning
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