My name's Katie. I like using the word beautiful excessively, because I think that it accurately describes the things that fill my life with meaning. I dislike lying, sing a lot, and don't kill bugs.

You should probably also be warned that I'm slightly obsessed with Meryl Streep and k.d. lang, mostly because they're gorgeous and talented and so, so amazing.

to do listfandoms

July 29th 2014
4:52 PM
Via
"They say the pussy has the power,
well my vagina has the velocity, the viscosity,
and the vanity to make you drop to your knees.

My stretch marks are evidence
of my body’s noble effort to hold
so much sensuality,
and boldness, and grace
into 5 feet 6 inches of flesh.
It’s like trying to contain our entire galaxy
in a water bottle.

My thighs are strong enough
to kill a man,
and he’d die happy too.

My breasts are security blanket,
cup holder, wallet, food saver,
buffet, air bags, flotation device,
jewelry box, something to cry into when you’re scared,
pillow, no - fuck pillow - whole mattress,
glove compartment,
and pacifier for the whiny male all rolled into two!

My natural hair is glorious,
you could lose your fingers in its curls,
it’s bigger than your dick,
thicker than your wallet,
and it never gets greasy.

Fun fact: there is a use for calculus after graduation,
and it is to measure the curves of my legs.
The width of my hips that can birth nations.
It’s to discover the infinite possibility
and softness and beauty.
Beauty
beauty beauty
beauty
of this body I was sat on a couch and taught to hate.

You know, there was a time that I was in awe
that someone would actually want to see me naked.
But now I look at myself, arcs, bounce, and rawness
and think “who the fuck wouldn’t”?

I am Venus de of-your-fucking dreams,
I am Athena, birthed from your thoughts and desire.
Always unable to leave your mind.

And like most goddesses,
I learned never to love anything
more than myself."
Love Letter To Me, Myself, and I (via lohazepoetry)

lecapunk:

i have been informed that it is heterosexual awareness month

i would like to state that i am very aware of heterosexuals.  they appear to be everywhere, encroaching, always circling closer and closer, whispering ‘no homo’ and canonizing the male friendship as the only truly important relationship in media.  

they are out there, they are out there, and they are coming.  please be advised and take appropriate countermeasures.

July 26th 2014
3:44 PM
Via

oxboxer:

"No homo" is one of the dumbest things I have ever heard come out of the mouth of a human. This is my second favorite way to reply - the first, bloody retribution.

r-u-thunderstorms: The Cloisters at Gloucester Cathedral

3:37 PM
Via

plizm:

Synchrodogs for Jalouse magazine, Paris

pornstarwars:

roses are red,
violets are blue, 
I’d give up my wifi
to spend time with you

4:58 AM
Via
"The girls are never supposed to end up together.

I watched that movie with Ellen Page and Alia Shawkat, the roller-skating movie, the one where Ellen and Alia are best friends, each other’s only comforts in their podunk town. They need each other, and they hug, and they dance, and they tell each other I Love You, and Ellen meets a skinny boy who plays in a band. It doesn’t even work out with the boy, but that’s almost tangential. The girl was never a real option.

I think that’s why it’s really difficult for girls. For me. We follow narratives and our fingertips trace the contours of the stories we love and we long to escape within the confines of our own lives. Meet your boyfriend in the pouring rain and yank down his mask and kiss him upside down. Run with your boyfriend to the front of the ferry and throw your arms out to the side and scream, “I’m king of the world!” If you are a girl in love with a boy, your possibilities are infinite.

If there is a special girl in your life, you love her as a friend. You love her as a friend, but she becomes less important to you as you grow, and you leave her behind for a boy. She might even stand next to you when you marry the boy, and she might catch the bouquet of flowers that you throw to her. You’re giving her permission to move on, move away from you. It’s a ceremony of separation.

But if you should fall in love with a girl - and loving and falling in love are two very distinct things - the first kiss is the end. You’ve all seen the movie. Or the television show. Or the after-school special, or you’ve read the book that was banned from your school’s library for containing Sexual Content. The point of your story is not to fall in love. The point of your story is to struggle. Your story begins with a lie and climaxes in a truth and ends with a kiss. In the movie of your life, forty-five minutes are devoted to you figuring out how to say that you want to kiss girls, and another half-hour is devoted to people’s objections, and maybe the last fifteen minutes is you kissing the girl. Maybe you don’t even get to kiss the girl. Maybe she tells you that she’s flattered, but she doesn’t bat for your team.

The critics swoon; it’s realistic, they say, so realistic, to depict the struggle of the modern teen, the heartbreak of irresolvable incompatibility. Isn’t that always what celebrities cite in their divorces? “Irreconciliable differences.”

And so you’re lying on the floor of your bathroom, your knees curled to your chest, or you’re on your sofa with a pint of ice cream, or you’re in bed watching your favourite sad movie on Netflix, and the collective weight of all that you consume settles on your shoulders, leans in, and whispers, “You were never meant to fall in love.”

You were never meant to fall in love. Your story ends in tears or it ends in death. Jack Twist was bludgeoned to death with a tire iron and Ennis Del Mar was left alone in his closet to dance with an empty shirt. Alby Grant found Dale Tomasson swinging by a noose in the apartment that had been their safehouse, their respite, and he sank to his knees and cradled Dale’s bare feet and he cried. The Motion Picture Association of America axed Lana Tisdel and Brandon Teena’s sex scenes, but they didn’t have a problem with the extended shot of Lana cradling Brandon’s corpse in her fragile arms and falling asleep next to his body.

Love and intimacy are ours only in death, or so it would seem.

I don’t want to die. Isn’t that a very human experience? Not wanting to die? When does anyone who looks like me get to grow old and raise grandchildren and hold her wife’s hand as the skin wrinkles, turns translucent?

Sometimes my father asks me if I’ll ever date a man. Sometimes he doesn’t ask. “You are attracted to men, and you dream about falling in love with men,” he says, as if he can will his imaginary daughter into existence merely by speaking about her. Or maybe he is just looking out for my safety.

He’s seen the movies, too.
He loves me.
He doesn’t want me to die."

carpeumbra:

kittengrin:

kittengrin:

carpeumbra:

kittengrin:

carpeumbra:

Fifty Shades of Domestic Abuse

Fifty Shades of Damaging Stereotypes 

Fifty Shades of Wanna Guess How Many People Will Be Hospitalized Due to Flesh Wounds from Improper Knots After the Movie?

Fifty Shades of Glorified Abuse

Fifty Shades of Kidney Damage from Incompetent Crop Use

Fifty Shades of Pathological Violence Due to Past Trauma Isn’t Kink

July 24th 2014
2:23 AM
Via
2:22 AM
Via
2:22 AM
Via

nevver: Pattern recognition, Lukasz Wierzbowski

korpsekobain:

don’t hurt BEES. they just want to pollinate flowers and make honey. hurt WASPs. fuck them and their old money, big mansions, and country clubs