V-Nomics

[vnomics]

I am too busy and exhausted to care how pathetic my life has been for years. A facade of stoic intellectualism masking loneliness and worthlessness. Random expressions of what I am told is interesting about myself, leading nowhere. Fernetic activity to maintain some semblance of self-worth, while being kept at arms length by all who claim to value me. I am tired of swimming upstream, but cannot determine if I should swim harder still or let myself be pulled under.

[emilyblincoe]

the garden collection // colors organized neatly

emily blincoe (prints here)

august 2013

[spudnuto]

[omensetters]

linguistically i am pro-“y’all”

[marketranarchist]

I love the very fine line conservatives must walk between “government is the enemy” and “how fucking dare you challenge the authority of the police or the military”

[littlemusicalwitch]

[notangelai]

Where was this when I was studying for my college placement tests

[sixpenceee]

A nurse is looking for a vein on the hand of a premature baby.

[questioningthenormal-deactivate]

this is great

[commoncores-blog]

Wait, dis gud

[libertybill]

Yes. Beat the state at its own game.

[governmentname-deactivated20150]

the sort of thing gunblr people would do if they were about things not related to vanity and being hip

[priceofliberty]

Do you expect every gunblr to drive to this city that could be 1000s of miles from their home just to turn in a homemade gun just to make a statement? What a fucking joke lmao

[sizvideos]

Video - Source: Siz iOS app

[themoonisfree]

This is real

[charlesoberonn-deactivated20150]

If something is ‘old as fuck’ then it’s about 1.2 billion years old because that’s when life evolved sexual reproduction.

[ultimateventist]

#wow #fuck is old

[professorfangirl]

However, if something is “old as balls” it’s only about 65 million years old, when placental mammals began to evolve proper testicles.

[asterthecaster]

I love biologists.

[theladywillseeyounow]

I don’t want to hear “he had a gun.” I don’t want to hear “he had a troubled past.” I don’t want to hear “it was the middle of the night.” I don’t want to hear “it was a bad neighborhood.” I want to hear “the officer failed to activate his body cam, failed to activate his dash cam, failed to immediately administer medical attention, failed to call for an ambulance, and is therefore directly responsible for this death, and we will be moving for a speedy indictment.”

(via theladywillseeyounow)

[crossbonesandcutlery]

[fairysharkmother]

it is illegal in all 50 states for a city to shut your heat off if you meet these conditions!!

there’s also some resources here if you think you won’t be able to afford the heating bill this winter:

http://www.masslegalhelp.org/income-benefits/utilities/winter-heat

[sixpenceee]

Victor Noir is more famous for his death and his grave than for his life. He was a journalist who was shot dead. To mark his grave, a bronze statue of the man lying down as if just shot was erected. This statue has since become something of a fertility symbol.

Due to the naturalistic style of the sculpture there is a fold in Noir’s trousers which make him appear to be aroused. Myth says that placing a flower in the top hat after kissing the statue on the lips and rubbing its genital area will enhance fertility, bring a blissful sex life, or, in some versions, a husband within the year. This is located at the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris

[thechubbynerd]

"Honey our pregnancy test came back negative we have to go rub the statue’s dick again"

[coral]

Pain is important: how we evade it, how we succumb to it, how we deal with it, how we transcend it.

Audre Lorde (via feellng)

[sixpenceee]

Giant Sword monument in Norway called Sverd i fjell. They commemorate the historic Battle of Hafrsfjord that took place there in the year 872

[shatteredtothebone]

[sarahtaylorgibson]

In the Deep South, God is a cotton king, Trussed up in plantation whites and powdered over smooth with a little bit of talcum from Momma’s compact. He’s the Georgia dust that gets on everything, in everything, Caking the soles of bare feet sifting through cracks in church pews, and catching in your lover’s eyelashes. In the Deep South, the Devil is a beautiful boy who swears and cheats at billiards on Sunday. He is the one who reaches up your skirt, pulls out the prayers your were saving for someday and lights them on fire with his tongue. He will sing hymns while feasting on your forfeit heart, call you blessed while peeling away dignity like stockings, then drag you out in front of the church to be stoned. In the Deep South, the Holy Spirit is an old woman with hands brown and gnarled as the nuts she boils and a voice soft and dark as the Appalachian sky. She is the swamp kingdom matriarch children are sent to when sins need to be wished away like warts, the presence of whom straightens the spines of wayward souls and coaxes a “Yes Ma’am” from the devil’s own. In the Deep South, Jesus is a mixed-race child with drops of destiny mingled into his blood and the names of the saints tattooed along his spine. He has his mother’s bearing, one that wears suffering nobly, and baleful eyes that speak of the sins of his forefathers. The word of God flutters from his mouth like butterflies with bodies baptized in tears and wings dipped in steel. In the Deep South, angels drink too much. They sashay and guffaw and forget to return calls. They tell white lies and agonize over what to wear. In the Deep South, angels look very much like you and it, and they cling to each other with dustbowl desperation and replenish their failing reserves of grace with ritual in the hopes of remembering what they once were, what wonders they once were capable of performing.

Hossana Americana by S.T. Gibson (via sarahtaylorgibson)