Nooooo ‘professional’ clothes are the worst.
you finally sneak into the dragon’s cave and find his treasure chest. you open it and there is just a macaroni drawing by the dragon’s son.
“ITS TREASURE TO MEEEEE” the dragon bellows
THIS ADVERTISING CAMPAIGN. My graphic designer soul is sobbing
Nothing beats imagination.
When a great man like Nelson Mandela passes, it’s also common to wonder if we’ll ever see his kind again. But there’s no doubt that the Nelson Mandelas and Martin Luther Kings and Václav Havels of the 21st Century are stridng among us. But you can’t see it, because if he or she was shaking hands with world leaders and greeted by adoring throngs and serenaded by children’s choirs, then they wouldn’t be the next true Mandela or King or Havel.
No, the next Nelson Mandela of the world is rotting in a jail cell tonight, just like Mandela nearly withered for 27 years on Robben Island. Or he is on someone’s terrorist watch list, or she is segregated and searched every time she travels through an international airport. Somewhere, government spies are reading the emails of the next Nelson Mandela. They are tracking his cell phone and listening to his calls, or monitoring her meetings with their undercover cops.
Many of the other people who today are uttering bland platitudes about the dead Mandela will go back tomorrow to heaping scorns on the living ones. They are the shameless radio hosts and TV pundits and their army of dittoheads who see an advocate for justice and call him a “Communist,” who look at someone who wants to liberate her people and brand her a “terrorist,” who find someone willing to live in a tent city to call attention to inequality and call them a urine soaked rapist, who lash out at someone who dares to believe in peace as “naive,” or a “dirty (bleep)ing hippie.”
The next Martin Luther King or Aung San Suu Kyi could be anywhere right now — advocating for gay rights in Putin’s repressive Russia, playing the piano in front of a line of riot police in Kiev, getting arrested in Raleigh to fight for the voting rights of minorities and young people or growing up in a small village in Pakistan, dreaming of peace even after a flying robot has killed his neighbors.
Today’s Václav Havel is fighting for the unspeakable today, so that the unspeakable will be normal by the time that he or she is old or dead. Gay rights are his segregated water fountains, economic inequality is her apartheid, fracking is his mercury poisoning.
The Nelson Mandela of the 21st Century is right here, right now. We just can’t see it. We’re too busy spitting on him and calling him a terrorist.
At the end of the very last scene, Meryl Streep, believing that the scene had ended, asked Dustin Hoffman if her eye make-up was messed up from crying. The director kept it in the movie.
What the fuck is that, “act my age”?
What do I care how old I am?
The Ocean is old as fuck.
It will still drown your ass with vigor.
|—||the greatest thing i have ever read (via rauchwolken)|
worlds most cynical art student
that title is a feat in itself
Fox News headlines v. real headlines, part 2425183.
The brunette part is really important.
Fun fact, our hair color reveals our place in pansexual society. Blondes are our record keepers. The great librarians, they collect, analyze, store, and distribute information to the rest of us. They are blonde because they reflect the light of knowledge. Those with Black Hair are our inventors. They investigate, produce, and teach new technologies so that we may thrive in future times. Their hair is black because of their frequent dives into the void of the unknown. Burnettes are our ambassadors. They interact with people, plants, and animals, forging bonds that can protect us when we are threatened. Their hair is brown because of their deep connection to the earth.
And as for redheads.
You don’t want to know the purpose of the Red Heads. But may their hellfire consume our enemies.
(516): The lesbians are drunkenly meowing in the hallway again. This is the shit I’ll miss at home.