Well, I marched against Monsanto, woke some people up, and a Gadsden cop (significantly cooler than APD and JPD, mind you) let me pose for this picture in front of his car with his lights on!
We are the power!
Also, if no ones told you today, let me be the first to say I love you!
Namaste’!
Never believe that you alone can not change the world, because you might spark the mind that changes the world!
(via theacid-queen)
Tomorrow will be my first march. And march on we shall!
March Against Monsanto!
Also, I look and I notice that my future isn’t nearly as exciting as the future of the youngsters behind me. Fighting for you to leave you one hell of a tomorrow.
With love, me.
Pac stood up, and it’s the first thing you heard him say in like, two weeks of court. ‘You know, your honor, throughout this entire court case, you haven’t looked me or my attorney in the eye once. It’s obvious that you’re not here in the search for justice, so therefore, there’s no point in me asking for a lighter sentence. I don’t care what you do cause you’re not respecting us, this is not a court of law; as far as I’m concerned, no justice is being served here, and you still can’t look me in the eye. So I say, do what you wanna do, give me whatever time you want, because I’m not in your hands, I’m in God’s hands.
(via theacid-queen)
The Signs of God’s Existence - Documentary [Full Length] (by AlimaneStudios)
Beware, the intro might kill your shit.
Favourite guitarists part 1: TK (凛として時雨)
“I’d rather be dead than cool”, I’d rather be dead than food.
When a stock-broker throws themselves out of a window due to financial pressures it is presumed – by the right wing press at least, if not the rest of us – to be a tragedy.
Yet when the same events occur in the lives of someone not just working class, but on benefits, the reaction of some is to…
She called the white ducks with a soft
Clucking of her tongue and they came to
Her busy hands for the hard corn she shelled.
Taking a fat one up in her arms, soothing the
Down with her cheek, she cooed and sang to it,
While the eager beak bit at her palm cup.She bowed the graceful head down to sleep
Beneath the perfect white wing and keeping
Her place on the long neck, like a finger in a
Book, she brought up the porcelain bowl to
Hold in her knees, in one motion. I can still
See the shining blade layering through the
Orderly feathers, through the sleeping veins.Headless, featherless duck swam in clear water,
Dark blood, carrots and apples, black prunes,
Parsley, pepper, thyme until the meat fell
Away from the bone and pieces floated among the
White kluski clouds in dark brown broth. Every
Bit of the down she saved for small pillows.
When she gave them to my children she said,
“They won’t remember me, so tell them these
were from the duck feather woman.” They took them
Eagerly from her knotted fingers.—Phil Boiarski, “Blood Soup”
Art Credit Kymia Nawabi (via)
Yet another impossible standard for women
(via i-m-a-ge)
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(via psych-facts)
