A nineteen year old thought machine with voluntary insomnia, a need to travel, and a bad case of the "Rhyme-a-lots".
My organs glow in the dark.

sunflowers
friendlycloud:

thepoliticalnotebook:

Protesters in New Delhi are hit with a police water cannon blast during their demonstration following the brutal gang rape of a 23-year-old woman, which has sparked  powerful protests in India’s capital in recent days.
[Saurabh Das/AP]

Countries ABC, protest: India

These are things we deserve to know about.
somehow i don’t even question the fact that jimmy’s just casually sitting in a trash can

"Really, I do not know whether my paintings are surrealist or not, but I do know that they are the frankest expression of myself." - Frida Kahlo
Today I was honored to be involved in the world’s coolest marriage proposal complete with Harry Potter themed riddles, ocean caves, bookstores, and botanical gardens. Congratulations to my favorite roomies @rachael__heller and @samantha_torres__! Mischief managed.  (at San Francisco Botanical Garden)
alfiusdebux:

Jyoti Bhatt. “Ahir” boys
blackhistoryalbum:

EASY RIDER | 1959
—- Harlem Motorcycle Club (Harlem, NY) by Norman Parkinson.
nuitnuitnuit:

Russian Orthodox Clerical Vestments

Man o man it’s 4am and two minutes and if I could wish anything in the world right now it would be to lay all squished up on the floor with my 6 dogs. But that can’t happen for another few months because I live 500 miles away from them now. I miss ranch life. San Francisco is treating me well but there’s nothing like being surrounded by lovable beasts all day. I miss my horses and the way hallie would follow me around licking me while I bailed hay and shovelled horse shit. I miss the way I had to mentally prepare myself before walking inside because I knew I was going to be trampled by 12 paws whether I liked it or not. I miss collecting eggs in the morning and the adorably soft chicken clucks that would play like background melodies throughout the day. I miss the hellish thunderstorms and having to trudge out into the downpour and gale force winds with my mom to dig trenches in the mud around the chicken aviary. I miss watching the ravine fill up into a creek flowing straight through the property when the storm finally cleared. I miss the smell of hay. I miss the sound of horses sighing when they’re content with the world. I miss picking bags upon bags of fruit, giving it away to friends and neighbors, and squeezing a month’s worth of orange juice. I miss climbing plum trees for a snack. I miss the heat. I miss when horses sneeze on you and somehow being covered in boogers is okay because the sound was so cute. I miss resting my head on a horse’s butt. To be honest I just really miss horse butts. I miss chasing them around the pasture, slapping a rope on the ground and laughing as they galloped within inches of me down the hill. I miss the flowers in spring. I miss the fields. I miss driving the little tractor. I miss the sunsets. I miss my cats and my moms and my grandparents. I miss the sound of cowboy boots on wood flooring, and the silly rack of cowboy hats at the door. I even miss the extremely conservative but somehow endearing little town of Ramona. And I’ll always miss being a 20 minute drive from the mountain town of Julian, the pie capital of California.
Calling a place home is one of the most sacred privileges someone can have. I’m really happy that I have such a beautiful one.