tokyo-fashion:

Peke w/ blue hair, Joyrich, Adidas & Pocari Sweat tote bag in Harajuku.

It’s cool that a drink with “sweat” in the name can be popular, but honestly, it tastes slightly worse than gatorade. If you’re at a vending machine, Ito En oolong or jasmine is where it’s at.

Dope outfit though.

Peke w/ blue hair, Joyrich, Adidas & Pocari Sweat tote bag in Harajuku.

It’s cool that a drink with “sweat” in the name can be popular, but honestly, it tastes slightly worse than gatorade. If you’re at a vending machine, Ito En oolong or jasmine is where it’s at. Dope outfit though.

sardonicheight:

[[seductively does nothing to indicate I’m attracted to you]]

(via sixtyforty)

Women are afraid of meeting a serial killer. Men are afraid of meeting someone fat.

When Strangers Click, a 2011 documentary about online dating.

It reminds me of that famous Margaret Atwood quote: “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” It also reminds me of something written by one of the mods of Sex Worker Problems: “Misandry irritates. Misogyny kills.”

(via plasticbags)

(Source: tealeafprincess, via stfuconservatives)

catsandgraffitis:

“The more they told me: you’re a girl, you can’t paint graffiti, you can’t go to subways, because you’re a girl, you’re a mere female; I had to stand up and just shut them up.” —Lady Pink

Graff feminist OG

(via eeltooth)

Through a career that has included crotch-grabbing, nudity, BDSM, Marilyn Monroe fetishizing, and a 1992 book devoted to sex, Madonna has been viewed as a feminist provocateur, pushing the boundaries of acceptable femininity. But Beyoncé’s use of her body is criticized as thoughtless and without value beyond male titillation, providing a modern example of the age-old racist juxtaposition of animalistic black sexuality vs. controlled, intentional, and civilized white sexuality.

all-hail-the-queen-beyonce-feminism#.UZvUyP56MrU.facebook)

(Source: rickstallion, via sixtyforty)

artmonia:

James Fenner.

(via octogutsss)

amplifiedattire:

Robot(?) leggings by Balenciaga. [Source]

(via sixtyforty)

My life is eating itself to
death and I cannot help or
look away and no damn purge
will save us now

count your prospects,
light them with your bow

imitating a saxophone very loudly with my mouth is a sort of stimming that i’d probably do frequently if it weren’t for deep-seated paranoia and anxiety, but i’m kinda glad i only do it when i’m alone and drunk because if not for that limitation, i think i might not have many friends.

yo, another fucked up thing: i’d probably be in a much worse place in life (lol) if i were less conventionally attractive than i am. i’ve seriously got some advantages there, and nobody’s willing to talk much about that shit. a lot of people who don’t know me see (from what i have been told) an aloof, cool, eccentric person with golden eyes and a classically handsome male jawline, but internally i’m no fucking different from the socially broken, fedora wearing guys who are constantly shit on by the misogynist, ciscentric world-at-large and the glorious fempire alike. except i’m a girl or something, but no one believes that but me.

i don’t remember what my point was
in writing that paragraph but there was totally something. i’ve been manually canceling the automatic capitalization on my phone lately and i’m not sure if that’s a result of my “i could have been a great scholar” inferiority complex or a legitimate preference

all i know is i probably need more blackstrap rum before it gets dark or i’m never gonna finish this email

and said my mind while I lived,
“downshift to purgatory,”
and I thanked it and I
hated all
after

Hello I am purgatory,
welcome all

(Source: the-important-1, via eye-of-tei)

(Source: Flickr / samtrav, via fuckyeahdykes)

(Source: slumscape, via chawlz)

(Source: spaceghostzombie, via eeltooth)

(via chawlz)