“I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.”

b.e.fitzgerald (Art is a Facebook status about your winter break.)

This.

(via byrdiegrey)

iwillbeatbpd:

Fuck yeah to the kids who feel like they’re dying inside but still gather up the strength to roll out of bed, get dressed, and leave the house. You are strong and beautiful and worth so much more than you know. 

leavethecoinsonthedresser:

Praise your friends when you witness their growth.

mothlikestars:

I’ve just cried laughing at the comments on a Jamie Oliver recipe, there was a typo on the website and everyone put 13 lemons into a pasta sauce and didn’t even question it. Imagine eating 13 lemons, the recipe was for 4 people, imagine having that much trust in Jamie Oliver.

I CANNOT BELIEVE IT

girlgotmuscle:

lilinternetwarrior:

theidledrifter:

jane-b-nimbel:

thesanityclause:

youngmanandoldsoul:

“Killed 99 bears”

a fact that if actually accomplished, should be put on a tombstone.

My favorite part is “We hope he has gone to rest.” What, like… they weren’t sure? Maybe, if ever the bear uprising should start again, he would rise from the ground to finish what he started and slay that 100th bear?

Was this man so powerful they are concerned he might not have decided to rest at all and is simply biding his time?

The bears made that tombstone.

A warning, and a prayer.

That he really, truely stays down.

This is too badass not to reblog.

Reblog for last comment

pozmagazine:

knowhomo:

LGBTQ* Typography, Art and Posters You May Have Missed

Art posted during Gay Pride Weekend, Portland, Maine in late(r)-2000s

(Source: Down Is Not Up)

"Cocktails Are Not A Cure"

pokemonstadium2:

i have powerful thighs and a good heart

Note to self:

Recovery does not mean perfection. I do not have to be a recovery goddess. It is okay to struggle. It is okay to say that I am not okay. I am not falling short. I am not a disappointment.

I am struggling a lot right now. That’s a really hard thing for me to admit.

I am in recovery. I am and always will fight for my health. And I don’t want to be the poster child for recovery anymore.

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