dishabille

noun  dis·ha·bille  \ˌdis-ə-ˈbēl, -ˈbil\  a deliberately careless or casual manner

[dishabillic]

Como la flor con tanto amor me diste tú se marchitó.  me marcho hoy,  yo sé perder.

Pero, ay, cómo me duele Ay, cómo me duele

[micdotcom]

Mass incarceration is costly — and it doesn’t work.

[dishabillic]

Well prove to me I’m not gonna die alone. Unstitch that shit I’ve sewn, To close up the hole that tore through my skin.   You said, “I can’t prove to you you’re not gonna die alone, But trust me to take you home, To clean up that blood all over your paws.”

[dishabillic]

[commissar-bianca-blog]

Please remember that these attacks in France may have not been conducted by Jihadists. However, regardless of if they were, we must remember they do not represent the majority of Muslim people. If this is ISIS, as it is likely to be, it is very important that we remember that our Muslim neighbors are not at fault here, and we must stand in solidarity with them in this, as they are for us. Please, do not turn to racism and Islamophobia. If you see Islamophobia and racist comments against Muslim people in response to these attacks, say something!

[dishabillic]

Just before our love got lost you said “I’m as constant as a northern star” and I said constantly in the darkness

[micdotcom]

After facing public outrage once Dyl’s story went public, Applebee’s and RHD are making things right.

[streamofcuntsciousness]

Women have been driven insane, and “gaslighted,” for centuries by the refutation of our experience and our instincts in a culture which validates only male experience. The truth of our bodies and our minds has been mystified to us. We therefore have a primary obligation to each other: not to undermine each others’ sense of reality for the sake of expediency; not to gaslight each other. Women have often felt insane when cleaving to the truth of our experience. Our future depends on the sanity of each of us, and we have a profound stake, beyond the personal, in the project of describing our reality as candidly and fully as we can to each other. […] When a woman is telling the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.

Adrienne Rich, “Women and Honor: Some Notes on Lying,” On Lies, Secrets, and Silence  (via streamofcuntsciousness)

[zanabism-deactivated20200529]

you could be my boyfriend of 85 years or my husband of 586778 years or my favourite teacher or my most beloved mentor but if you are a man and you yell at me or raise your voice at me i can 100% guarantee our relationship will never be the same ever again there is something so treacherous about men who needlessly raise their voice 

[inkskinned]

HOW TO FUCK UP ROYALLY; A BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO (SELF) DESTROYING: 1. Today you will skip all but the least important of your classes. What you’re doing during that time doesn’t matter, but if you wish to really stick to the program, make sure it’s nothing important. don’t bother picking up a book or putting a pen to paper, you can’t feel the beat of words as drumline anymore, but instead are a distant planet, a lonely star. it’s okay. you wouldn’t have been able to focus anyway. you are a confetti cannon that will never fire, a race that threatens to complete but instead always seems to be rained out. you could be so good if you could only get out of bed 2. this bed. this bed is anchor, this bed is now a museum you dedicate to depravity, to disease. get used to staring at walls and eating meals with extra crumbs just so you have some excuse for this skin itching at you. the size of your coffin will be slightly smaller than these sheets, better get used to a restful eternity anyway. below your feet will be a small throneroom full of dirty clothes and takeout boxes, you will make your nest of mess and love it for the smell, for the fact it represents how you feel inside. the devil is playing fiddle somewhere outside your window, let him in. he can share in it. 3. drop the phone like a thorned lifeline, leave it out there in the water and instead let your lungs swell heavy with your own selfhate, remember they didn’t really want to hear from you anyway. let the voicemails rest on a backburner, maybe if you’re lucky they will crisp away into nothing and you won’t have to deal with them anymore. lash out with no direction, hit whip tongue against your loved ones, make sure that you chase them jackal out of your desert life, clip their achilles heel. you are their achilles heel, their weak spot, their burden and their softness. 4. form your mouth into a lie, say you’re sick, split bridges like firewood. don’t show up to work, feel bad you skipped, skip every day in succession. give up on going. they’ve probably filled your place. how would you explain this anyway? a head in place and all bones supported by good sinew - god, sometimes, doesn’t the ring of a gunshot sound like bells to you, at least then you’d have an excuse - listen, stay home. stay in your vulture nest where the little baby birds of your desires are long gone, the quiet faithful dead. they won’t ask you why you no longer feel happiness, they understand silence, they understand blankness. maybe one day the bills will come with their sharpness and beaks open and hungry, but for now, they are a burden you cannot carry. 5. become scribble, a person with undefinition, an unclarity. is there something out there to burn down this house with? take it, light yourself with. it’s not alcoholism if nobody is around to see it. it’s not selfharm if it’s a cry for attention. it’s just sex, it’s just sixty-four straight hours of netflix, it’s just that you sort of doubt you ever felt anything. the world happened to a different person, you are just keeping the shell of that soul warm. when your mother cries about the spiral you’re clipped-wing stuck in, tell her: i’m okay. the words will sound cotton in your mouth and you’ll be post-dentist mouth-numb. it will be great. if you’re really really lucky, nobody will smell the decay. stuff yourself with cheesewhizz with emptiness with pocket lint shove everything into a bag and take off running eat the sun up to fill up that god awful nothing eat up your life in little clipped bites if it breaks you well that’s just fine our lord and savior jesus christ never intended for sheep like you don’t you know you’re a selfish piece of shit everybody knows that you’re faking it the sky outside is beautiful just go for a run do yoga do something fun after all there are children starving on some other continent and all you are doing is sitting here in that bed shoving your emotions into the darkness, a finger jamming a dam hole, a soul trying to spoon the water out of the boat except every time you do so you let just a little bit more of you go oh god ohgodohgod how you want to let it all go 6. 7. 8. 9. is there  a n y thin g   le  ft   or  am                    i just th i s ; a                                      hum a n mess 10. 11. 12. 13. call your mom. tell her you’re sorry, when she says, “what for,” say, “everything.” hang up with hands shaking and a heart that jostles against your breastplate. feel strangely alive for the first time in months. get all of your affairs in order, write a “sorry” note, kiss the envelope. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. wash the hospital out of your hair. 21. 22. call your mom. tell her, “thank you,” tell her that yesterday you tried her recipe for casserole, and she was right. it really does taste better with green beans on the side. 23. when you’re ready, come outside.

LEARN FROM IT, STAY ALIVE // r.i.d (via inkskinned)

[thetwomeatmeal]

It might be objected that someone who knows a sentence to be true must also know the proposition expressed by that sentence, on the ground that if he knows enough about the meaning of the word ‘true’ to be credited with the knowledge that the sentence is true, he must know the connection between knowing something and knowing it to be true … For instance, he must know that 'Horses are called “horses” ’ is true if and only if horses are called 'horses’: hence, since by assumption he knows that 'Horses are called “horses” ’ is true, he will, if he is capable of performing a simple inference, also be capable of knowing that horses are called 'horses’. But this objection derives its plausibility from ignoring in its premiss the distinction which it purported to demonstrate to be without substance, that, namely, between knowing that a sentence is true and knowing the proposition it expresses. We may justifiably credit someone who does not know what 'horse’ means, but who knows that it is a meaningful general term, with the knowledge that the T-sentence, ’ “Horses are called 'horses’ ” is true if and only if horses are called “horses” ’, is true; but to assume, as the argument requires, that he knows that 'Horses are called “horses” ’ is true if and only if horses are called 'horses’ is to beg the question.

Michael Dummett, “What is a theory of meaning?” (1975)

[dosomethingprettywhileyoucan]

Money spell! Reblog to charge it with your intent; the more people see it, the more powerful it becomes. Magic should be fun!

[tempestttossed-deactivated20170]

NOW THIS MONEY POST I AM HERE FOR

[deadgorl]

this actually does work the witches of tumblr really are out here doing something lol

[kvtrina-deactivated20151106]

well it better work or else I’m gonna cry I need to make rent h0e

[sassysugarnyc-deactivated201904]

Yesss November come throughhhhhhh!!

[abstractamanda]

Woo!

[principleofplenitude]

Why Swan Lake? It may seem like a random artistic choice, but to anyone who lived in the former USSR, it made perfect sense. For many Russians, the opening strains of Tchaikovsky’s score are as likely to remind them of political upheaval as they are the beauty of classical ballet. When Leonid Brezhnev died in 1982, after nearly two decades in power, state-controlled television stations cut into programming not with news of his death or an announcement of who would next lead the country, but with broadcasts of Swan Lake “in its full-length, four-act, three hour expanse,” writes Stanford dance historian Janice Ross in her new book , Like a Bomb Going Off: Leonid Yakobson and Ballet as Resistance in Soviet Russia. The broadcasts were a stalling tactic, meant to block access to the news while the Soviet leadership settled on a succession plan. The same happened following the deaths of Yuri Andropov and Konstantin Chernenko. Swan Lake was so often the backdrop for Soviet political upheaval that seeing it on television became a tip-off that all was not well in Moscow. In August 1991, Ross writes, when a group of communist hard-liners attempted to overthrow Mikhail Gorbachev’s government, television programs again were interrupted; for days, the only thing on state TV was a continuous loop of Swan Lake. Sergei Filatov, a member of the Russian legislature, was on vacation at the time. “I turned on the TV and saw the swans dancing,” Filatov told the Moscow Times. “For five minutes, ten, for an hour. Then I realized that something had happened.” He immediately got on a flight to Moscow, where he played an important role defending the city against the attempted takeover. (One of the leaders of the coup, Vasily Starodubtsev, later admitted that the broadcast was a strategic error.)

“This Portentous Composition: Swan Lake’s Place in Soviet Politics” from Hazlitt (via principleofplenitude)

[dishabillic]

Autumn Red at Uji ルーク.チャン.チャン

[dishabillic]

“I also painted a study of a seascape, nothing but a bit of sand, sea, sky, grey and lonely — sometime[s] I feel a need for that silence — where there’s nothing but the grey sea — with an occasional seabird. But otherwise, no other voice than the murmur of the waves.”

Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to his brother Theo, 17 September 1882 

[onlinejournals-blog-blog]

You’re good at writing your thoughts into well-spaced sentences. You believe in language and the rules it has, whatever those may be. I understand them, the rules, but they roll down my back, water from the spigot, oil hands and broad shoulders. I don’t understand language really, as much as I’d like. You’re speaking words that make sense and your eyes are all hope and gleam. I’m smiling like I got you, and even if I don’t know exactly whether or not I do, I’ll still drive with you anywhere for your hope and your bottom jaw and your carefully tended, untended hair. 

[dishabillic]

I still feel this exact way about conversation and language. 

[thegirlwhocrieswolf]

[dishabillic]

imy and don't know what name you go by now haha i guess that makes it easier