Untitled

[goodthingsellen]

#PostItForward

[buildingawholenewworld-deactiva]

Work until your idols become your rivals.

unknown 

This is the best motivation quote I ever read

(via asdfghjkllove)

[iarmenia]

"If you have never been called a 'slut' in this man-ruled-world, then you have mastered the art of hipocresy or repression"

[iarmenia]

Mi niña mala...

Soldadita... Era de las que hablan solas, como repitiendo para si misma consejos de invisibles hadas sabias. Las oia y siempre su pliegue labial izquierdo se elevaba con ironia. Se paraba de la cama a mirar por la ventana. Era un ritual. Las narinas aleteando, se le veía respirar el mundo. Toleraba el dolor de darse cuenta de que ese dia, no tenia sentido mirar hacia arriba. Aunque estaba azul, despejado; No era el cielo lugar de posibilidades. Era un mirage que parecia ascendente, y no era mas que un abismo del que se sostenia, solo por la gravedad. Teniendo a su favor la fisica, termino convencida de ser nunca infinita, siempre mortal. Incoherente, disonante y parcial. Un inexplicable desorden intrañable. Como una especie de perfecta ajena irrealidad. Los adjetivos desorganizados a penas flotaban en la superficie de su personalidad. Perdida siempre casi-encontrando su donde, nunca conmigo, se alejaba de un quien que casi siempre era yo. Procurandose siempre enamorada, sola o acompañada. A veces sí era de mi, a veces... No. Siempre volátil, inconstante, inusual. La peor pesadilla que podria pasar: una dulce mujer fatal. Como tenerla...? Si la hicieron perfectamente fallida: "Dos cucharadas de caos, una taza de terquedad, tres raices de indesicion o inconstancia. Una pizca de intolerancia. Ocho libras de pasion y ocho libras de amor al riesgo. Una porcion de miedo, pero solo miedo en polvo. Desorden al gusto." Ella nunca pedia disculpas por su incomodidad espiritual. Ni por sus cambios de opinión. Nunca renunciaría a su desorden. Su diseño, su personal receta, mezcla de ingredientes dulces y amargos sin un orden preciso, de manera errática y divertidamente imprecisa. Nunca dejaría de distraerse con el cielo para no perderse una direccion. No bajaría el volumen de su musica y siempre cantaba a todo pulmon, repartiendo como regalo su extraordinariamente desafinada voz. Esas mujeres, ricas de alma que nunca guardan su dinero para que "crezca", ocupadas en usarlo para crecer ellas. Ella era asi. Complicada, extremista, pero atípicamente diplomatica. Es alegre, ella es risas. No tolera personas que no le hacen el mundo mejor. No abre ciclos que decidio cerrar y no cierra los que, aunque contra su conveniencia, le siguen dando curiosidad, esclava temporal de atracciones que simplemente no valen la pena. Libre de aquellas eternas y eternamente libre de esos como yo, aterrados ante el espectáculo de su libertad. Asi es que la recuerdo. Quisiera que el amargo de traerla al pensamiento fuera el del recuerdo postumo, el duelo, la impronta de la muerte. Pero aun existe y el amargo es porque lo hace en otro lugar distinto al mio. Probando el sudor de otra carne. Entrando desnuda en la pupila de otros ojos. Mi dulce y ajena mujer fatal. La peor pesadilla preferida que podria pasar.

[iarmenia]

Pintalabios y Boxeo

Pintalabios y Boxeo Tengo la mejor impresión de los hombres. Siempre la he tenido. El primer hombre que conocí al nacer se convirtió en mi modelo a seguir, una figura paterna extraordinaria. Que suertuda! En 25 años de vida mis mejores amigos han sido hombres y los hombres de mi familia son cariñosos, respetuosos, generosos, educados y divertidos. Compartiendo con ellos siempre ha sido fácil reemplazar los mas molestos parámetros sociales; de ellos he aprendido muchas lecciones, desde las mas superficiales como: disfrutar la ferviente pasión por los deportes, hasta otras mas freudianas como el psicoanálisis de la seguridad que proyecta abarcar toda la silla cuando me voy a sentar. Con los hombres de mi vida, disfruto el valor de una amistad sin competencia, sin rivalidad y sin envidia. Pero, parafraseando a Ortega, "somos nosotros mismos y nuestras circunstancias". Por eso no soy capaz de formular una opinión de género desde una perspectiva biográfica. Mis quejas de enfrentamientos con el mundo de la testosterona son minúsculas bajo la lupa social. Soportar los no-tan delicados comentarios sobre mi aspecto físico cuando soy transeúnte, o al simpatico chico que en un bar usurpa mi autonomía después de unos tragos, son solo la punta de un iceberg gigantesco. En comparación general, tolero que mis problemas sean considerados ridículos o absurdos. Entiendo si en otro contexto suenan superficiales comparados a los problemas que enfrentan otras mujeres del mundo. Y es precisamente por eso que la bandera de las tan estigmatizadas feministas, tiene sentido. El deseo de que el termino traiga implicaciones positivas es una urgencia. Podemos empezar por aceptar las cargas sociales y estigmas de nuestros compañeros. Como se unen a la causa cuando se sienten odiados por las mujeres feministas? Como practicar la equidad cuando se enfrentan a tantas mujeres machistas? La inequidad social no puede ser juzgada a partir de circunstancias individuales. Hay mujeres en el mundo con una perspectiva completamente distinta, víctimas de abuso sexual, discriminación psicológica, falta de recursos y acceso a la educación. El machismo es tangible y demostrable. Está en las calles y en los libros de estadísticas. Y no, no es un invento de niñas burguesas con ganas de ser "rebeldes sin causa". Es fácil no verlo si se es indiferente, pero la negación nunca equivale a inexistencia. Mientras tanto, seguiré disfrutando el privilegio de conversar de boxeo y pintalabios, con el sueño de que, después de cubrir necesidades y problemas mas profundos, todas las que quieran, puedan disfrutarlo también.

[coral]

Did you know that for pretty much the entire history of the human species, the average life span was less than thirty years? You could count on ten years or so of real adulthood, right? There was no planning for retirement, There was no planning for a career. There was no planning. No time for plannning. No time for a future. But then the life spans started getting longer, and people started having more and more future. And now life has become the future. Every moment of your life is lived for the future—you go to high school so you can go to college so you can get a good job so you can get a nice house so you can afford to send your kids to college so they can get a good job so they can get a nice house so they can afford to send their kids to college.

John Green, Paper Towns (via feellng)

[ohthativy]

You are stronger than you realise. You are crueller than you realise. The smallest words will break your heart. You will change. You’re not the same person you were three years ago. You’re not even the same person you were three minutes ago and that’s okay. Especially if you don’t like the person you were three minutes ago. People come and go. Some are cigarette breaks, others are forest fires. You won’t like your name until you hear someone say it in their sleep. You’ll forget your email password but ten years from now you’ll still remember the number of steps up to his flat. You don’t have to open the curtains if you don’t want to. Never stop yourself texting someone. If you love them at 4 a.m., tell them. If you still love them at 9.30 a.m., tell them again. Make sure you have a safe place. Whether it’s the kitchen floor or the Travel section of a bookshop, just make sure you have a safe place. You will be scared of all kinds of things, of spiders and clowns and eating alone, but your biggest fear will be that people will see you the way you see yourself. Sometimes, looking at someone will be like looking into the sun. Sometimes someone will look at you like you are the sun. Wait for it. You will learn how to sleep alone, how to avoid the cold corners but still fill a bed. Always be friends with the broken people. They know how to survive. You can love someone and hate them, all at once. You can miss them so much you ache but still ignore your phone when they call. You are good at something, whether it’s making someone laugh or remembering their birthday. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that these things don’t matter. You will always be hungry for love. Always. Even when someone is asleep next to you you’ll envy the pillow touching their cheek and the sheet hiding their skin. Loneliness is nothing to do with how many people are around you but how many of them understand you. People say I love you all the time. Even when they say, ‘Why didn’t you call me back?’ or ‘He’s an asshole.’ Make sure you’re listening. You will be okay. You will be okay.

21 things my father never told me (via ohthativy)

[b-itch-y-deactivated20231113]

Another woman’s beauty is not the absence of your own

[echoesofadventure]

I will reblog this every time I see it. Important.

[deardianaa]

YES

[iarmenia]

Strong women lift other women up!

[iarmenia]

Hey! You look like some kind of love, Nice to meet you! I'm sorry for saying this so fast but damn, love: you are beautiful! Love you are laughter, You are joy, you are amazing! Love, I think you are my 'other half'! Love, you are permissive, you are flexible, you would always understand, love you are -always kind, You are -always a friend, 'the best thing of my days', you are always mine. Love, I can't think of a life without you! You are promises love, you are plans, you are eternity. Love you are the perfect complement for the perfect life. But love... you were late today, you look blurry, love what is going on, love where are you going... Love you are fading! Love, I'm getting tired. Love, so you are. Love you're noisy, you're grumpy, love you 'talk too much', love 'you're not enough', --- Love... You broke my heart. Oh love I wanted to hurt you... I did things I didn't want, love I said words I didn't mean, Oh love, I hated you. Love I hated you! For a day, for two weeks, for three months. Love, you were the worst I've ever had and I sticked to those words for a while. Love, now we're casually meeting again. And honestly love; You are still laughter, You are still joy, Love, you really are amazing... You are not longer romantic. You are not longer 'for me', not longer 'the one', not longer 'eternal', But love, you are great memories. Love you will always be part of my story. I'm sorry I hated you. I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry I did things I didn't mean and said things I didn't want, because in the past... or a ghost... You will always be... some kind of love. From A, Feb27th, 2015, 5:29am

[fuckyeahrudyfrancisco]

They call me… a lot of different names. They call me Black. They call me Hip-Hop. They don’t call me Harvard or Columbia. They call me NBA and NFL. They call me Slang. Ebonics. They call me Rims and Jewelry and Jordans. They call me Riot instead of Protest. They call me Angry instead of Frustrated. What they don’t realize is this: I am the fingers, the knuckle, the hand, the fist, and the swing. I am the fight, the fall, the get up, and the continue. I am the sweat and the brow. I am the field. I am the house. I am the office. I am the march, the boycott, and the sit-in. I am the confetti, the pole, the flag, and the wind. I am the Fourth of July. I am the flag and the wind in which it waves. I am the shackle on the Statue of Liberty and the fire She holds in her hands. They call me Black. And that’s okay. They also need to call me America.

Rudy Francisco (via fuckyeahrudyfrancisco)

Spoken word poetry❤️

[wordsnquotes]

People who believe they’ll be happy if they go and live somewhere else, learn it doesn’t work that way. Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.

Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book  (via caffheine)

[iarmenia]

Just because I liked something at one point in time doesn’t mean I’ll always like it, or that I have to go on liking it at all points in time as an unthinking act of loyalty to who I am as a person, based solely on who I was as a person. To be loyal to myself is to allow myself to grow and change, and challenge who I am and what I think. The only thing I am for sure is unsure, and this means I’m growing, and not stagnant or shrinking. Jarod Kintz

[iarmenia]

Optica Basica

No me preguntes en que es que creo. No te podre satisfacer. No te va a gustar.

No es sublime, no es poetico, no es hermoso. Es real.

Es tangible, demostrable.

Hecho con atomos organizados en moleculas y compuestos. Es biologico, es fisico, material.

Es organico. Multicelular.

Es finito y expansivo, casi universal. Uno solo y muchos a la vez. Es sencillamente especial.

Creo en algo movil y sumamente profundo. Es marrón, monocromático, radiado, sabio.

Tan poderoso como un agujero negro, puede verlo todo y puede verse también, lo puedes mirar desde cualquier distancia pero de cerca su presencia es mucho mas real.

Es comunicable y accesible pero es mudo.

Mudo de palabras humanas que encuentra inútiles, breves, inexpresivas, insuficientes.

Es exigente, tiene sus propias conexiones intelectuales con las que decide lo bello, lo feo, lo blanco, lo negro.

Esta bien guardado bajo piel, bajo pelo, bajo colageno.

Quizas si sea sublime, poetico, hermoso y real. Es mi religion, mi fe, mi verdad.

Es tu Iris, ojos color marron.

No quiero creer en nada mas.

[imprecise-deactivated20141011]

[ripdeerbells-deactivated2014012]

“Books are the perfect entertainment: no commercials, no batteries, hours of enjoyment for each dollar spent. What I wonder is why everybody doesn’t carry a book around for those inevitable dead spots in life.”

-Stephen King

I just can’t not reblog this

[iarmenia]

No creo en la mayoria de los tipos de alquimia, excepto en la que casi mágicamente, convierte el dolor y el odio, en belleza y perdón. I'm skeptical to most types of alchemy but the kind that, almost magically, turns pain and hatred, into beauty and forgiveness.

[iarmenia]

More Ink for the skin, please...

She looked around and felt so aware. Mid 20’s …. That was the age to realize how terrible airplane food was. How uncomfortable was to sleep in a sofa bed. How bad was the hangover after too many cheap drinks.

As a teenager she managed to learn many valuable life lessons; “don’t experiment too much with the tweezers” and “try to avoid mirrors as much as possible”. But that day she broke the rules and took a glance at her reflection in the middle of a 21century store.

Curly, coyly, messy… She wanted her life like her hair.

She could feel the lack of answers crawling in her skin. She had nothing to lose and was enjoying the charm within.

She felt too young, too healthy, too unafraid of the future.

She was just getting ready to feel that way for the rest of her life; Wrinkles, gray hair, truncal obesity, mistakes, loneliness and bad companies. She was not ready for it but comfortable with the idea.

Being unconventional was scary, trendy and exciting at the same time. Feeling so much can be exhausting, but the one and only way to call existence “life”.

Another coffee, ~she said, Days are running short in this lifetime…

A

[teachersgazebo-deactivated20200]

I think the average guy thinks they’re pro-woman, just because they think they’re a nice guy and someone has told them that they’re awesome. But the truth is far from it. Unless you are actively, consciously working against the gravitational pull of the culture, you will predictably, thematically, create these sort of fucked-up representations.

Junot Diaz (via luciaferr)