thehardihood reblogged
Personality: I DON’T GIVE A FUCK
Anxiety: I do
No post has ever described my life as accurately as this one
thehardihood reblogged
ALL 👏🏾 OF 👏🏾 THEM 👏🏾
This post goes harder than any post has ever gone before.
the sheer amount of Fucks Not Given in these photos is creating a Black Hole Of Ungiven Fucks, sucking in all the bullshit over the Fuck You event horizon and trapping it so the bullshit can’t escape. It’s gorgeous.
thehardihood reblogged
Source: porterr-robinson
thehardihood reblogged
Nah they’re equally shit
thehardihood reblogged
satanpositive
Roses are red, that much is true, but violets are purple, not fucking blue.
I have been waiting for this post all my life.
They are indeed purple, But one thing you’ve missed: The concept of “purple” Didn’t always exist.
Some cultures lack names For a color, you see. Hence good old Homer And his “wine-dark sea.”
A usage so quaint, A phrasing so old, For verses of romance Is sheer fucking gold.
So roses are red. Violets once were called blue. I’m hugely pedantic But what else is new?
My friend you’re not wrong About Homer’s wine-ey sea! Colours are a matter Of cultural contingency;
Words are in flux And meanings they drift But the word purple You’ve given short shrift.
The concept of purple, My friends, is old And refers to a pigment once precious as gold.
By crushing up molluscs From the wine-dark sea You make a dye: Imperial decree
Meant that in Rome, to wear purpura was a privilege reserved
For only the emperor!
The word ‘purple’, for clothes so fancy, Entered English By the ninth century
.
Why then are voilets Not purple in song? The dye from this mollusc, known for so long
Is almost magenta; More red than blue. The concept of purple is old, and yet new.
The dye is red, So this might be true: Roses are purple And violets are blue
.
While this song makes me merry, Tyrian purple dyes many a hue From magenta to berry And a true purple too.
But fun as it is to watch this poetic race The answer is staring you right in the face: Roses are red and violets are blue Because nothing fucking rhymes with purple.
IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER.
My reaction, only with coffee.
Hang on, need to send this to my literature prof
Source: katelizabeth
thehardihood reblogged
thehardihood reblogged
Wow it’s almost like most of human history has been about controlling women… or something…
thehardihood reblogged
thehardihood reblogged
thehardihood reblogged
let me tell you something:
no one is going to look at you, broken and shattered
and think -
damn, you are beautiful.
no one is going to come pick up your broken pieces off the floor and
assemble them into a beautiful whole.
hell,
you won’t even look at yourself and think -
I made broken look beautiful.
you know why?
because all those writers lied to you.
yes,
all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and
blood dripping down chins,
pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you like
hurricanes.
liars.
so you and i,
we are going to make a plan.
you are not going to romanticize days when your brain tells you to smash that mirror,
you are not going to romanticize the lover who doesn’t understand you
but still writes about you.
here is what you are going to romanticize instead:
you are going to romanticize the first day of spring,
its gentle hands all over your body,
lifting you up until you are as light as a feather.
you are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love,
no hurricanes,
but sunshine that builds you up from within,
that helps you make it through the worst days.
you are going to romanticize gentle hands of a friend
in yours,
telling you that it is going to be okay.
because it is.
and don’t trust poets,
we’re no good,
we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount to a beautiful disaster, but in reality -
there ain’t nothing beautiful about shaky hands holding a cigarette and
empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls.
you know what is beautiful, instead?
the days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile,
scars and all.
music that makes your soul flow like a river,
books that offer comfort,
families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm,
friends that give you strength when you can find none,
lovers who make you laugh through tears.
baby,
from now on
you are going to romanticize healing;
honey dripping down your fingertips,
August nights that stick to your skin,
the day you find your purpose,
long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now.
bad news:
no one is coming to save you.
good news:
you can save yourself.
Lana Rafaela (via wnq-writers)
Source: wnq-writers
thehardihood reblogged
Anniesa Hasibuan SS17, first head to toe hijab fashion show @ NYFW
thehardihood reblogged
This is not a photograph of lovers, this is a 400 year old marble statue of Pluto and Proserpina
HOW
Bernini, yall.
thehardihood reblogged
How to get out stains using other things
what-are-thooosseeee
TO SAVE A LIFE
thehardihood reblogged
me: *waits patiently in a line in a busy establishment with limited employees who can only work so fast
every 40+ person in the vicinity: OHHHHHHH MY GOD THIS IS RI-DIC-U-LOUS why is the space time continuum not being broken to IMMEDIATELY ACCOMODATE me, The Most Important Person In The World,
thehardihood reblogged
rasec-wizzlbang
this is the brand we use in all the pre cut fruit bullshit at safeway, too
thehardihood reblogged
Marriage isn’t just sex, it’s conversation and laughter
I mean some spouses barely even like each other, and the marriage seems like a dead end
You might share a checkbook and a house, but are you actually friends?
I mean, if marriage isn’t a commitment, then what’s the point of the vows we say?
“Til death do us part” really means “Until the feelings go away”
Like, I’ll stay with him, but only until it gets tough and my love shifts
But I say imagine if a parent took that perspective with their kids
Like can’t you see it? The minute the kid spills something on the floor
The mom’s saying, “Forget it, I don’t even love you anymore”
No, it’s just like marriage, to last you need the strength from above
Because it’s not love that sustains the promise, it’s the promise that sustains the love.
Sex, Marriage, & Fairytales // Jefferson Bethke (via worshipgifs)
thehardihood reblogged
That is the saddest part when you lose someone you love — that person keeps changing. And later you wonder.. is this the same person I lost?
Amy Tan (via quotemadness)
Source: quotemadness.com