install theme
Ed Sheeran - Give Me (Too Much) Love








Give Me Love layered FOUR times over itself, alternating in each ear. Enjoy the eargasm. (Download/SoundCloud)


I will reblog this for the rest of my life. This is the best thing I’ve ever heard

oh my god. this is. I am. he’s singing in my head. sodnckdnxdm


"give me (too much) love" can I just -

(Source: fuckliam)

At one moment in my childhood, my mother mysteriously asks me if my father has ever touched me inappropriately. This upsets me greatly and when I ask her why she would ask me that she turns and walks away, saying that she learned something.
This forever makes me feel distrusting and unsure of my father’s true character.


ART: Scarily Realistic Oil Paintings by Yigal Ozeri 

What kind of fucking sorcery?! Today we’re delighted to bring you some of the most hyperreal artwork our eyes have ever seen.

Yigal Ozeri is a New York-based artist, originally from Israel.

Read More

I am going to start this in the hopes that I can continue. This is my therapy. This is me self-helping. I must go on each day hoping that I will be stronger, better, and happier than the day before it.

I am doing this because for a long time I have been coping. I’ve been shelving so much angst and emotion…unconsciously, of course. These things have to be let out. Deal with them now or suffer from them later. I know it’s going to hurt me. It’s giving me anxiety just thinking about the things I am going to be writing. I am expelling so much shame and guilt. I hope I feel a little less heavy afterwards.


My biggest fear is becoming my mother. I fear for my mental sanity from a biological standpoint. What concerns me the most in this matter is the similarity in personality defects exhibited by both mother and grandmother. If this is indeed biological and i have inherited some bad genes, by all means I must learn how to deal with this mental illness for the rest of my life. I do not believe I have inherited any mental illness, this is just a fear of mine.

Mom always told us growing up that dad was the sick one. This is a large part of my childhood. My parents screaming at each other. Dad gets upset with mom for some reason, mom yells back but is mainly compliant. She shrugs it off, “Benny is bipolar.” This confuses me for a large part of my youth into my late teens.

Early memories of my mom… We used to be very close. She would pick me up from preschool. I would go on a lot of errands with her. She would love to take me out to eat. We would go to BJs Fish & Chips, an old-fashioned type of place, we would sit at the counter, she let me get my own basket. There was an old school Pacman machine. There were lots of times going through mcdonalds, just me & her. I realize now that my mother greatly associates food with comfort.

Strange things start happening in my life. I have many suppressed and blurred memories from my elementary school years. I do not like being the youngest of four children. I often feel lonely and don’t like that my sister won’t play with me. I make friends at school but am shy. I ask my brother if I can use some of his coloring markers. He writes me a note in green ink and says that in exchange for me borrowing them, I have to let him strip search me. I do not know what it means to strip search but I know that it’s something cops do to criminals. When he touches me I feel sick and sweaty. He tells me not to tell anyone because they will be mad at me. I am compliant. Many years continue of sexual molestation, including sex. I feel that I am doing something wrong. Issues with my parents continue. Their fighting is always bad. Dad takes a job in San Jose. He is gone except on weekends when he comes home. I like when dad is home, he spoils me and we are very close. Financially my family is doing well.

Mom leaves one night with our neighbor. I do not know where she goes but find out it is to San Jose. When she comes back she does not talk to us. This is the first time I see my mother fade away. One day I am sitting downstairs. Mom is upstairs in her room, I hear her call nicole into her room. I hear nicole yell out, “no!” She leaves the room, crying and infuriated. To this day I do not know what she said to her.

The strange behavior in the house continues. I ask the neighbor, hope, who is at our house what is wrong with my family. She tells me that my mom went to my dads in San Jose. When she opened the door a woman was there in a robe. My dad was getting out of the shower. There was a condom in the garbage can. I do not remember how old I am but I have no idea what a condom is and hope is reluctant to tell me.

I am severely depressed. My mom spends a lot of time in her room. My dad calls on the phone one day and asks to speak to my mom. She picks up the phone upstairs and goes into our bathroom. I pick up the receiver downstairs and listen to my mom sobbing on the phone. I do not listen for long, I put on rollerblades and go outside. I feel sad and scared that my family is falling apart.

When I am 10 years old I beg for a dog. I promise I will be a good owner and pick up his poop. My dad thinks it’s a good idea to have a protector around. A teacher from my school has just had a litter of puppies. They are golden retrievers. I get to go to the house to meet the very last one. He has a mangled tail because it was run over by a skateboard, but I’m promised that it will heal just fine and it eventually does. When I visit the puppy he is busy swimming in the pool. I love him a lot and decide I must have him. We get to take him home soon. I name him Maximus. I love him very very much. When I cry he puts his head near mine. He has to sleep outside. I am not a good owner to him, I never take him on walks. He cries a lot at night and I don’t know how to take care of him. His death is the worst thing to ever happen to me, I feel regret and sadness over his loss.

….enough for tonight.


So here I am, staying up late, writing about my feelings again for a tumblr post. Ahh… I hate this shit. I hope one day when I’ll look back on all this and read this I’ll be able to blurt out “what the fuck was wrong with me?” Because that’s how I’m feeling right now.
What. The. Fuck. Is wrong with me?

The mind is a terrible thing, and not just to waste. I’m thankful for my mind most days. It helped me overcome some stuff I may not have otherwise been able to. It steers me in a direction that is most of the time stable and can be a sturdy force in moments of weakness. Like it is for many others, though, it can be destructive. Here are some things I am fixating on lately…

Once, a friend of mine sent out an email to our friend group. In it were some questions about what each of us really and truly thought of the others. Many of my friends lamented that most of my behavior is seemingly not genuine- that I “act my way though life.” These comments hurt me then and haunt me now. I hold on to them. I feel deeply insecure by my behavior, what I say around others, and question my own sincerity.

These doubts have led me to sifting through each of my relationships. It fucking really fucking sucks to question shit like this. Why past friendships ended or people left my life, was it all my fault? Am I not worth keeping around anymore? Have I truly made amends to those I’ve hurt or will I get anymore time to? These things swirl around in my head. They make me sick and sad. I want to cry a lot lately. Loneliness is creeping in.

I see a lot of quotes around the Internet about loving oneself and inspirational, motivational anecdotes on self-confidence. I’m thankful that my mind is as strong as it is because most of the time it keeps these bad thoughts at bay… I worry that this will be at the expense of stifling my soul.

Who I think I am… Exciting, friendly, complex, intelligent, caring, talented, humorous, emotional, sarcastic. I am 50 shades. I’m the chameleon. I’m adaptable. Being the same way every moment of every day is absolutely boring and I doubt I could bring myself to do it if I tried.

Who others think I am… Inconsistent, crazy, false, flighty, annoying. I don’t know…I am all those things too. I am all things at once. I am what I am.

I am what I am.

What am I

I am what I am










"Image Credit: Carol Rossetti

When Brazilian graphic designer Carol Rossetti began posting colorful illustrations of women and their stories to Facebook, she had no idea how popular they would become. 

Thousands of shares throughout the world later, the appeal of Rosetti’s work is clear. Much like the street art phenomenon Stop Telling Women To Smile, Rossetti’s empowering images are the kind you want to post on every street corner, as both a reminder and affirmation of women’s bodily autonomy. 

"It has always bothered me, the world’s attempts to control women’s bodies, behavior and identities," Rossetti told Mic via email. "It’s a kind of oppression so deeply entangled in our culture that most people don’t even see it’s there, and how cruel it can be."

Rossetti’s illustrations touch upon an impressive range of intersectional topics, including LGBTQ identity, body image, ageism, racism, sexism and ableism. Some characters are based on the experiences of friends or her own life, while others draw inspiration from the stories many women have shared across the Internet. 

"I see those situations I portray every day," she wrote. "I lived some of them myself."

Despite quickly garnering thousands of enthusiastic comments and shares on Facebook, the project started as something personal — so personal, in fact, that Rossetti is still figuring out what to call it. For now, the images reside in albums simply titled “WOMEN in english!" or "Mujeres en español!" which is fitting: Rossetti’s illustrations encompass a vast set of experiences that together create a powerful picture of both women’s identity and oppression.

One of the most interesting aspects of the project is the way it has struck such a global chord. Rossetti originally wrote the text of the illustrations in Portuguese, and then worked with an Australian woman to translate them to English. A group of Israeli feminists also took it upon themselves to create versions of the illustrations in Hebrew. Now, more people have reached out to Rossetti through Facebook and offered to translate her work into even more languages. Next on the docket? Spanish, Russian, German and Lithuanian.

It’s an inspiring show of global solidarity, but the message of Rossetti’s art is clear in any language. Above all, her images celebrate being true to oneself, respecting others and questioning what society tells us is acceptable or beautiful.

"I can’t change the world by myself," Rossetti said. "But I’d love to know that my work made people review their privileges and be more open to understanding and respecting one another."

From the site: All images courtesy Carol Rossetti and used with permission. You can find more illustrations, as well as more languages, on her Facebook page.


I would hold onto you because I couldn’t face my own loneliness
I couldn’t fix something myself
I needed the comfort after a long day
I wanted someone to talk to
Sometimes I may actually miss you 

But there was never a fire there
No passion to make me call you mine
I never wanted to hold you tightly
Or stand on the edge of the world and scream your name
You cried when it was over and I didn’t feel a thing

Despite those things I first mentioned, I know I don’t need you 
My life isn’t tied to yours
I don’t care about your heartbreak
I want you to be happy 
I want you to find someone else
Forget my selfish needs
Move on- you and me both
What I take away from the relationship is this; I now understand what it feels like to be on this side of the game
This is what unrequited love is

Freaks and Geeks (1999)


There’s an expression often said
When someone is irritating you,
“You’re getting under my skin.”
I guess if you looked up the word irritating,
I did,
You would find the synonyms “vexing,
Irksome, painful to a body part.”
You are getting under my skin.
You are more than that,
You are in my skin.
You are everywhere I go.
You are a part of me.
If I dusted my skin for fingerprints,
I would find yours

You are
In my blood.
You rush through all my veins
Beating with my heart
From one chamber
Left, right.
Not “thun-thun” of a heartbeat
No, I hear
“Kiss-me, kiss-me, kiss-me.”
You are in every part of me.
When my skin opens up
I swear
It is you that comes running out
Not just blood.

You are
In my bones.
I used to think it was you
That caused me to stand up
In the morning.
Physically, it was my
Foot and leg bones
Working together.
I think that you are them.
You are my hand bones
A million little ones
In every motion
I make.
I am an echo of you.
You are in my bones.
You are in my blood.
You are in my skin.
I am you.
You are me.

God, I miss you.


- Irritating by starlate (via starlate)

Oh my god

(via jessicariley)


Ferris Bueller’s Day Off


Karlie Kloss photographed by Sebastian Kim for the cover of Vogue Korea May 2014