It does not matter what culture you wish to take on; as long as it leads you to the deeper recesses of the wellspring of human knowledge and wisdom, it shall be a good culture for you.

Kuo Pao Kun paraphrasing Deng Xiaoping

:O

untrustyou:

Doublefaced No. 30
Sebastian Bieniek

untrustyou:

Doublefaced No. 30

Sebastian Bieniek

(via senhoritaugly)

No matter how you feel… Get up. Dress up. Show up. And never give up.
(via lush-purrfection)

(via lush-purrfection)

People are rivers, always ready to move from one state of being into another. It is not fair, to treat people as if they are finished beings. Everyone is always becoming and unbecoming.
Kathleen Winter, Annabel  (via breathemystardust)

(via monaeltahawy)

flyartproductions:

Feels good to be back home baby!
The Ascension (1775), John Singleton Copley / Touch The Sky, Kanye West ft. Lupe Fiasco

Happy Easter Sunday from us at Fly Art! 

flyartproductions:

Feels good to be back home baby!

The Ascension (1775), John Singleton Copley / Touch The Sky, Kanye West ft. Lupe Fiasco

Happy Easter Sunday from us at Fly Art! 

(via kabukijoy)

Glass Animals - Gooey (live on triple j) (par triple j)

"Fresh like icky gooey womb"

yes
yes

STWO - Anna | choreography by Gorbunov Nikita | The First Crew (par Nikita Gorbunov)
beautiful

What I know of survival is this:
how to adjust my body around the cool spots in bed,
the way my hair is never exactly right
when I leave the house for a hopeful second date,
the imprint of my bra on my skin after coming home
and letting my dress pool at my feet.
Sleeping, alone.
Missing you and missing you.
I eat olives and arugula standing up in the kitchen,
wearing nothing except underwear and pearls.
I do not recognize myself.
Being sad only makes me thirsty.
I drink two glasses of water, take an aspirin,
dance with myself slowly in the living room.
Everything comes back to me in moments—
flashes of your skin, the freckles on your chest,
your perfect wrists, a kneecap, the small of your back.
I peel away the sadness to get down to the pit of the thing
and can never quite manage to finish it.
My hands smell like oranges, clove cigarettes.
Pounds of sadness. I get out of bed. I run the bath.
Chocolate shavings and blueberries for lunch.
Little things, but I am handling it.
Yesterday, I almost called you to tell you that I love you,
but then I remembered I’m not allowed to say it anymore,
and it is awful. You are with me even when I brush my teeth.
Kristina Haynes, “Love So Good That I Forgot to Say ‘Ouch’” (via sergeantinhaler)

(via getouttaqueer)

rap music is best enjoyed with a mug of full-leaf tea.

twitter.com/heydirigible

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