A 14 year-old boy was recently raped at knife-point by a 20 year-old woman. When the story broke, it was primarily men who claimed he should have enjoyed it. It was feminists who validated his pain and spoke in support of him.

This is why we need feminism.


(via charlesneedsfeminism)

"but men get raped too-"


(via booooost)

(via carmelamela)

I am someone who has a cold heart. If I am beside a great grief I throw barriers up so the loss cannot go too deep or too far. There is a wall instantly in place, and it will not fall.
-Michael Ondaatje, The Cat’s Table (via larmoyante)

(via sexpansion)

Was it hard?” I ask.

Letting go?

Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn’t real.

-Lisa Schroeder (via purplebuddhaproject)

(via ikilledalaska)


ヘルタースケルター (2012)
Pretty on the outide… but like a fruit, the bugs have eaten from within.
(dir.) Mika Ninagawa

All this time
I drank you like the cure when maybe
you were the poison.
-Clementine von Radics (via hellanne)

(via sexpansion)

The thing that irks me most is this shattered prison, after all. I’m tired, tired of being enclosed here. I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart, but really with it, and in it.
-Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (via larmoyante)

(via sexpansion)

Home is in my hair, my lips, my arms, my thighs, my feet and my hands. I am my own home. And when I wake up crying in the morning, thinking of how lonely I am, I pinch my skin, tug at my hair, remind myself that I am alive. Remind myself to step outside and greet the morning. Remind myself that it’s all about forward motion. It’s all about change. It’s all about that elusive state.
-Diriye Osman, Fairytales for Lost Children (via andrewmicah)

(via sexpansion)

give me poison for death or dreams for life
asceticm shall soon come to an end in the / gates of the moon which the sun
has already blessed / and although unbetrothed to reality the dreams
of the dead man shall stop mourning his fate

father I will to your heaven my eye as / a blue drop in the sea
the black world bends itself no more for alms / and psalms
but thousand year old winds comb the loose / hair / of the trees
wells slake the invisible wanderer’s thirst
four directions stand empty around the bier
and the muslin of the angels is changed
by a magic wand
to nothing

-Gunnar Ekelöf, “Apothesis” (via heteroglossia)

(via ikilledalaska)