dreadeltrap

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I'm begging other trans people to read an ounce of Black Feminist or Decolonialist Feminist writing. I'm on my hands and knees and begging you. I promise you, I promise you, there is so much more to Feminist theory than anything you have picked up from White/Radical/Pop/Liberal Feminism I promise you. Read There Is No Hierarchy Of Oppressions By Audre Lorde. I have a link to the PDF right here you can read it for free. Take my hand I can't do this alone (thanks glass beach). Peace And Love On Planet Earth.

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REV UP THOSE DATAS

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Proud owl

(via)

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pls reblog for larger sample size etc!! im very curious

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"Glimpsing at the seabed through the water and the complexity of the light within, at a soothing southern sea." By Shigeko Inoue (2002).

Born in 1945, Inoue studied traditional Japanese and Italian woodblock printing. Her work focuses on nature, transparency and the movement of water.

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If you're looking for a sign to be sluttier this is it.

Text them, sext them, post that nude. Buy the outfit that shows off too much, wear it. Even if you feel self conscious at first you'll love being a slutty sex object once you give it a try.

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safety, health, liberation for the people of palestine……that is the goal. everything else is just noise.

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oh dude youre nauseous? weed can help with that, take this huge bong rip and hold it in for 12 seconds and swallow smoke and start crying and spitting and throwing up

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When I was little, my dad hired a Cambodian refugee called Jack to help him drywall a dining room ceiling. Jack spoke very little English; he'd recently gotten a part time job in a little Asian deli not far from our home and needed to pick up some extra work. He was very kind to six year old me and my exhausted mom; he brought us day old leftovers from the deli counter often, and liked to tuck the knuckle of his index finger into the dimple in my cheek whenever I smiled at him.

He soaked up construction skills and other information like a sponge, and by the time he left my dad's tiny construction company he'd gotten his GED, learned to drive, reunited with his sister and her family, and had begun remodeling a vacant business on the rich side of town into a Cambodian restaurant. He invited us to their grand opening on lunar new year, and I'll never forget when he gave me a red envelope with five dollars in it and told me, "tonight I am the luckiest man in the world, so this will bring you luck, too."

Years later, my dad told me that Jack had witnessed his parents' murder during the khmer rouge, and was immediately separated from his sister. He had to cross the killing fields at Choeung Ek alone, on foot, eating grass and insects to survive. He somehow made it to Cam Ranh on the coast of Vietnam, where a distant friend of his father's put him on a boat to Seattle. Jack was nine years old.

I tell this story because, even though I haven't seen Jack or any of his relatives in thirty years, I pray he's well and happy and eating like a king tonight with everyone he loves, celebrating the long overdue demise of the pestilential sonofabitch who tried to wipe them out.

Fuck Henry Kissinger's pathetic ghost, and fuck all those who praise him. Fuck Imperialism. Fuck the genocidal war machine. Drink deep for the freedom of all souls tonight, my friends. And tomorrow, keep fighting.

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Redditors crashed the website with donations over $25k and 0 wishes left. via /r/MadeMeSmile

Click here and follow to get more daily positivity on your dash!

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Gonna tell y’all what I can hear now that I got my hearing aids

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kill the shift manager in your brain

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Fundamental life advice: never trust a product from a youtuber/influencer sponsorship