Fall Into The Sky @hernameismirror - Tumblr Blog

just wanna remind y'all that there was a character in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy who accidentally became immortal and decided to spend his eternity of suffering traveling through time and space to insult everyone in the universe, one by one, in alphabetical order, and if that’s not a hero idk what is

taranareddy

I am about 15 years old. It’s close to midnight. I walk into my grandmother’s room and see her prostrated, knuckles rat-tat-tat-ing on the floor. She says that she’s knocking on heaven’s door, praying for my sinner’s soul. I don’t sleep for a week. Much later, I let a boy who tastes of too many mojitos give me my first kiss. It feels like nothing. Like pressing my lips to human-shaped plastic. I let him because I am frozen. Even though I am older than most people are when they have their first kiss, I feel paralyzed by inaction. This is what’s supposed to happen. He likes you. You like him. Shut up and let it happen. The same year, I kiss someone else at a party. This kiss tastes of alcohol, too, but it is better. I can feel certain parts of my brain start to wake up to what is happening, to what this makes me. I pull away. I don’t want to confront the name for what I am. We are surrounded by friends. There is a bottle waiting to be spun. I go straight to church from the party. The sermon begins with Genesis 3. Women were the beginning of sin. I agree, now that I have tasted one. I tell my sister. She looks at me like I’m speaking in tongues, and then she laughs. You do so much drama, Akka. Why do you always want to be different? I don’t believe you It hurts, but I let it go. I am too jittery with the newness of it. When I’m 22, I meet a girl at a writer’s workshop with muddy green eyes and unruly brows. She recites her poetry and it contains words like asymptote. They sound like they were made to roll off her tongue. You’re so pretty, she says. I’m having a boy-free year, she says. Staying celibate for a whole year? I ask. Her gaze holds mine for an extra second. She winks and I clench my fists. She leans over, steals a drag from my cigarette, and my fingers are left with the ghost of her lips. I think, I could do this. I could do this.

But maybe I hear echoes of knuckles tapping desperately on marble tiles, because I don’t. I tell a male friend and he grins in a way that makes me immediately regret it. Gateway to a threesome! I smile and say nothing. I let him congratulate himself on having a bisexual friend. It’s better this way. This way, it’s not about me. I hear it again and again. The belittlement of my identity. The stealing of it, turning it into something small and unimportant, easy to utilize and disregard. Every girl is at least a little bi, right? When I kiss the next girl, I am drunk again and several months into a relationship with a boy. She’s tells me that she doesn’t like labels. We kiss because we are dared to, in the audience of two men that we work with. Again, it is somehow not about me. Again, it’s for their entertainment, and I curl up in this knowledge like a cat in search of warmth. I tell my boyfriend the next day, the words cushioned in nervous laughter. He calls me a cheater. I can’t find the words to explain that I don’t understand this either. I’ve spent so long sweeping it under the carpet of my mind. Trying to pretend that I am a straight girl who falls off the wagon and into something soft from time to time. Every day for years I have rolled it away like a marble that I don’t want. I’ve been child-like in my insistence - it isn’t mine! But the slope that I’m on is oil-slick slippery and biased against me. My marble rolls back every single time. I’m drunk the second time that I kiss her, too. I’m still dating that strangely understanding boy. I know that tomorrow morning I will have to tell him and he will look at me again like I have tripped while holding something white and fragile and important to him. But this time, it’s just her and me in this reckless auto-rickshaw and in this creaky elevator. This time, I have no refuge from this. It was my hands that found their way into her hair and my vodka-numb mouth that closed in on hers. Nobody is being entertained by this but us, and somehow, it feels like progress.

- On Being Bi, Tarana Reddy

#lgbt #bisexual #lgbt writing

taranareddy

It’s a peculiar thing, my defense mechanism The way I will break myself When I have been broken I will hide Drink all the alcohol in my tiny room Chain smoke until my eyes are tearing And my throat is screaming As if I’m saying Look at what I have done Look at what I can do I control the way I feel And I can hurt if I want to

Tarana Reddy, Self Control (via taranareddy)

anyone ever: It's getting hot in here.

my brain: ......so take off all your clothes ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

me: wtf why??? still? what year is it??????

natashasromanoff

Viola Davis accepts the Female Actor in a Drama Series award for ‘How to Get Away with Murder’ at The 22nd Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards on January 30, 2016.

#viola davis #love

bled

#ultimate fantasy #black and white #photography

nevver

Go ask Alice

#art #alice in wonderland

the-bluespirit

#aziz ansari #killing it

culturenlifestyle

Architecture VS. Fashion Illustrations by Shamekh Bluwi

Jordanian artist Shamekh Bluwi took the internet by storm with an innovative collection of illustration, which function as fashion and architectural designs. Bluwi creates stunning paper cut-outs, which outline the silhouettes of women’s garments and haute-couture gowns, which are filled by the scenery of the surrounding landscape and its architectural marvels. The visual artist beautifully features bustling commercial streets, urban greenery, mosaics and sunsets.

The elegant cutouts reveal the architectural and geometrical lines of several different cityscape passages, which include Cairo, New York, and Jordan among other stunning locations. Bluwi often features stunning arabesque and geometric patterns of Islamic art. They are rich in color and intricate in design. They behave as inspiration for potential dresses and design ideas.

Bluwi admits that his biggest source of inspiration is everyday life. He said to The Huffington Post: “The inspiration comes to me while driving around town,” he said. “It might be a pattern or the shape and structure of a building. I want people to see their surroundings in a different perspective.”

#fashion #architecture