I thought the bathroom was really dark because my eyes were adjusting to the lights being off in the hallway after being in front of my laptop, and it was really dark outside, but the door was just shut and I smacked into it. it’s been two hours and my face still hurts.
(Source: geneva-diva, via silkchemise)
He is taking a course on Marxist ideology.
He says, “The only real solution is to smash the system and start again.”
His thumb is caressing the most bourgeois copy of the communist manifesto that I have ever seen,
He bought it at Barnes and Noble for twenty-nine U.S. American dollars and ninety-nine cents,
Its hard cover shows a dark man with a scarved face
Waving a gigantic red flag against a fictional smoky background.
The matte finish is fucking gorgeous.
He wants to be congratulated for paying Harvard sixty thousand dollars
To teach him that the system is unfair.
He pulls his iPhone from his imported Marino wool jacket, and leaves.
What people can’t possibly tell from the footage on TV
Is that the water cannon feels like getting whipped with a burning switch.
Where I come from, they fill it with sewer water and hope that they get you in the face with your mouth open
So that the hepatitis will keep you in bed for the next protest.
What you can’t tell from Harvard square,
Is that when the tear gas bursts from nowhere to everywhere all at once,
It scrapes your insides like barbed wire, sawing at your lungs.
Tear gas is such a benign term for it,
If you have never breathed it in you would think it was a nostalgic experience.
What you can’t learn at Barnes and Noble,
Is that when they rush you, survival is to run,
I am never as fast as when the police are chasing me.
I know what happens to women in the holding cells down there and yet…
We still do it.
I inherited my communist manifesto,
It has no cover—
Because my mother ripped it off when she hid it in the dust jacket of “Don Quixote”
The day before the soldiers destroyed her apartment,
Looking for subversive propaganda.
She burned the cover, could not bring herself to burn the pages,
Hoped to God the soldiers couldn’t read,
They never found it.
So she was not killed for it, but her body bore the scars of the torture chamber,
For wanting her children to have a better life than she did,
Don’t talk to me about revolution.
I know what the price of smashing the system really is, my people already tried that.
The price of uprise is paid in blood,
And not Harvard blood.
The blood that ran through the streets of Santiago,
The blood thrown alive from Argentine helicopters into the Atlantic.
It is easy to say “revolution” from the comfort of a New England library.
It is easy to offer flesh to the cause,
When it is not yours to give.
(Source: sincerely-the-end, via flannery-culp)
fat people are allowed to exist without your shitty approval stop acting like you care about people’s health fuck off
(Source: elegantfijianlovesfashion, via fuckyeahethnicwomen)
you guys ever do that thing where you make your sister watch season 1 of orphan black and in the process of seeing it all again yourself, realise how worryingly you relate to alison? and try to avoid thinking about it until you catch yourself using a glue gun and thinking, “damn, I could do some serious damage to someone with this?”
Actresses who consistently support israel like Scarlett Johansen and Natalie Portman are popular and worshipped in holywood this is not new like why is everyone surprised this israeli gal chick is playing wonderwoman. Hollywood and the West loves israel and hates Muslims. This is nothing new.
I have so many mixed feelings towards the whole no-bra look, because on the one hand it’s gorgeous and looks totally effortless and cool, and on the other, I’m still resentful of the time I tried to embrace my lack of anything significant and went to hand in an assignment in black high-waisted jeans and a white t-shirt, and realised when I got home that the indistinguishable stain on my top I somehow acquired on my way to campus that people kept looking at was actually just my nipple.