May 4

If you have the chance to see May 4th Voices, a play written by my friend David Hassler, with an incredible poem written and read by my friend Major Ragain, I can’t recommend it enough. I’ve seen it twice, and was blown away by the narratives. 

David is the director of the Wick Poetry Center at Kent State University. This summer, Lila participated in the Wick Junior Writers program again. One of their working/writing field trips was to the May 4 Center. I don’t think I have ever been so moved by a conversation as I was by the one she and her friend Emma had about their experience at the museum on the ride home that day.

They wanted to go to the memorial site where lights are installed marking the four spots where students died. I’ve stood in that spot many times, with the bustle of university business going on all around me, and it’s so incredibly haunting. The girls wanted to know if it would be possible for something like that to happen again, here or anywhere. 

I’m looking at you, Ferguson. I’m looking everywhere.

Yes. Yes, it’s possible. 


That thing where you get up to pee in the wee (see what I did there) hours of the morning, then fall back to sleep and dream that you wake up in a warm tangle of arms and legs and lips, then for real wake up alone in a freezing cold room because you left the window wide open and it’s 42 degrees outside.

That thing officially sucks. 

And not in the good way.

Mugshot with bedhead, sunrise, and the return of The Sweater. It’s cold titties in the house this morning. 

Mugshot with bedhead, sunrise, and the return of The Sweater. It’s cold titties in the house this morning. 

Somebody ought to wash the French door windows.

Somebody ought to wash the French door windows.



Holy hell, Urban Outfitters

(h/t to @mobute)

What in the actual fuck.

This is appalling.

Are you fucking kidding me. Jiminey Cricket on toast with butter. 

things i thought were just bad character traits that i have since discovered are symptoms of my depression:


1. inability to maintain contact with other people. picking up the phone or replying a message feels like climbing a mountain in fucking flip flops.

2. inability to care about my possessions/appearance/living environment that leads to a steady degradation of my possessions/appearance/living environment that further fuels the depression in a vicious cycle further perpetuated by guilting myself into believing that beginning to care about my possessions/appearance/living environment is materialistic/vain/shallow/trivial.

3. inability to feel anything for vast expanses of time leading to belief i am unable to make connections with other human beings/extreme feelings of isolation/the belief that i am not passionate about anything or love anything and thus will never be able to invest in or achieve anything.

4. the above feelings of total apathy are counteracted by extreme periods of utter excitement/enthusiasm/hilarity/bursts of creativity that come across as frankly terrifying to other people and can lead to self-destructive behaviour if boredom/curiosity is not adequately satisfied.

5. extreme fluctuations in feeling thus lead to self-doubt/inability to accept one’s own feelings/wondering if feelings are legitimate or just a product of a manic/down phase and a reduced stability of self identification.

6. paralysing guilt about all of the above that leads to being overwhelmed and thus burying head in the sand which leads to the escalation of neglect of self/environment/responsibilities/loved ones and belief that all of the above are normal traits/just personal flaws/depression is just a label/everyone and their mother is diagnosed with depression these days.

no. no no no. if you identify with any of the above please talk to someone. because these feelings desperately hinder personal progress, personal relationships, and personal happiness. depression is not just feeling sad. depression can lead to a series of behaviours that make you destroy yourself and your life and sabotage every good thing you have. and it’s not your fault and it’s not all in your head and it’s not just a part of your personality. these are obstacles that can be overcome and it’s easier to do that once you understand where they come from. 


Kiss her. Slowly, take your time, there’s no place you’d rather be. Kiss her but not like you’re waiting for something else, like your hands beneath her shirt or her skirt or tangled up in her bra straps. Nothing like that. Kiss her like you’ve forgotten any other mouth that your mouth has ever touched. Kiss her with a curious childish delight. Laugh into her mouth, inhale her sighs. Kiss her until she moans. Kiss her with her face in your hands. Or your hands in her hair. Or pulling her closer at the waist. Kiss her like you want to take her dancing. Like you want to spin her into an open arena and watch her look at you like you’re the brightest thing she’s ever seen. Kiss her like she’s the brightest thing you’ve ever seen. Take your time. Kiss her like the first and only piece of chocolate you’re ever going to taste. Kiss her until she forgets how to count. Kiss her stupid. Kiss her silent. Come away, ask her what 2+2 is and listen to her say your name in answer.

Azra.T “this is how you keep her” (via 5000letters)

Mmmm, yes. Kiss me like this….

(via eloquentlyerotic)

We should all have kisses like that every day. 

(via pocketcuntents)





Deep Fried Pickle Poppers





Yup, but even better when done with a tempura style batter, IMO. 

In fact a mature person does not fall in love, he rises in love. The word ’fall’ is not right. Only immature people fall; they stumble and fall down in love. Somehow they were managing and standing. They cannot manage and they cannot stand – they find a woman and they are gone, they find a man and they are gone. They were always ready to fall on the ground and to creep. They don’t have the backbone, the spine; they don’t have that integrity to stand alone.
A mature person has the integrity to be alone. And when a mature person gives love, he gives without any strings attached to it: he simply gives. And when a mature person gives love, he feels grateful that you have accepted his love, not vice versa. He does not expect you to be thankful for it – no, not at all, he does not even need your thanks. He thanks you for accepting his love. And when two mature persons are in love, one of the greatest paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone; they are together so much so that they are almost one. But their oneness does not destroy their individuality, in fact, it enhances it: they become more individual.

Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. How can you dominate the person you love? Just think over it. Domination is a sort of hatred, anger, enmity. How can you think of dominating a person you love? You would love to see the person totally free, independent; you will give him more individuality. That’s why I call it the greatest paradox: they are together so much so that they are almost one, but still in that oneness they are individuals. Their individualities are not effaced – they have become more enhanced. The other has enriched them as far as their freedom is concerned.

Immature people falling in love destroy each other’s freedom, create a bondage, make a prison. Mature persons in love help each other to be free; they help each other to destroy all sorts of bondages. And when love flows with freedom there is beauty. When love flows with dependence there is ugliness.

— Osho (via awelltraveledwoman)

(via pocketcuntents)

Terence Trent D’Arby - Sign Your Name (1990)

(via silent3)


Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, In Bed and In Bed: The Kiss 1892-93


(via betheyogurt)

We’re stripes. I can’t even.

We’re stripes. I can’t even.