baubles of my mind's eye

Isadora Duncan; Isadora Speaks: Uncollected Writings and Speeches of Isadora Duncan (via wordpainting)

(via guerrillamamamedicine)

The Revolution Will Not Be Polite

shit is just totally backwards these days. when did speaking about your oppression turn into being mean, bitter, combative, and complaining? when did those who speak up about our oppression need to be “nice” about it? my rapist was a nice, charming man who made me laugh & then took advantage of his position as someone who had infinite power over me. My molester was a family member, who begged me to have sex with her, and she was ALWAYS nice about it & when I said no, she would be sad, making me feel as if I was being “mean.” I don’t care about niceness, I care about respect and justice. I’m mean as hell & I don’t curr about your feelings. Pets are nice. They liked to be touched and held & played with. I don’t. If you want someone to coddle your feelings, buy a pet. Cuz I am no one’s pet, no one’s mammy. Your feelings mean less than nothing to me, as long as they are in opposition with my survival, my self determination.

(via communityandresistance)

(via torayot)

(Source: labyrintho, via sanaa-tamir)

(Source: chorascholarette, via lalilster)

Dietrich Bonhoeffer (via azspot)

(via azspot)

Anais Nin (via loveyourrebellion

)

(via loveyourrebellion)

oedipusrexrexrex:

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral….

thereisafish:

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you’ll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly. Amen.

• Aaron Freeman

(Source: NPR, via flapjackstate)

Etiquette for a Lady

. :: waitingforteaagain :: .

(Source: parfumdefleurs, via lovelybouquet)

(via inherhipstheresrevolutions)

Sierra DeMulder, Unrequited Love Poem (via human-thedeathdance

)

(Source: burrito-princess, via ballstoyouall)

loveyourrebellion:

Nothing great has been and nothing great can be accomplished without passion.

Anaïs Nin (via hello-amber)

(Source: indicio, via psychotropicpolitics)

fuckyeahradicalquotes:

“The erotic is the measure between our sense of self and the chaos of our strongest feelings. It is an internal sense of satisfaction to which, once we have experienced it, we know we can aspire. For having experienced the fullness of this depth of feeling and recognizing its power, in honor and the self respect we can require no less of ourselves. 

It is never easy to demand the most from ourselves, from our lives, from our work. To go beyond the encouraged mediocrity of our society is to encourage excellence. But giving in to the fear of feeling and working to capacity is a luxury only the unintentional can afford, and the unintentional are those who do not wish to guide their own destinies.” -Audre Lorde 

Liz Fong - Google - Share if you oppose “Booberday,” the G meme of sharing… (via craftastrophies)

My brother’s girlfriends’ care has one of those “save the ta-tas” magnets on it, and I want to break every single thing in the entire world every time I see it.

(via thecurvature)

I lost friends because they couldn’t understand me when I was trying to explain this to them.

(via iwillnotshavemyvagina)

(via iwillnotshavemyvagina)

Leonard Cohen

- The Spice-Box of Earth

} ginger-ninja : frenchtwist : indielowercase {