☁CLOUDBURST amanda. seattle/boston. ? ask.
sweetpulp:

why is there a human hand reaching out from under the table!!! what is a human doing in this world!!
Monday 8/18/2014

(134 notes)

sweetpulp:

why is there a human hand reaching out from under the table!!! what is a human doing in this world!!

(via bluebunny)

"I want to love more than death can harm."
Sunday 8/17/2014

(13 notes)

Ocean Vuong (via oceanvuong)
reclusieve:

how ya man should look at you
Saturday 8/16/2014

(34,232 notes)

reclusieve:

how ya man should look at you

(Source: fistfullofsoul, via susurrations)

"

Gentrifiers focus on aesthetics, not people. Because people, to them, are aesthetics.

Proponents of gentrification will vouch for its benevolence by noting it “cleaned up the neighbourhood”. This is often code for a literal white-washing. The problems that existed in the neighbourhood - poverty, lack of opportunity, struggling populations denied city services - did not go away. They were simply priced out to a new location.

That new location is often an impoverished suburb, which lacks the glamour to make it the object of future renewal efforts. There is no history to attract preservationists because there is nothing in poor suburbs viewed as worth preserving, including the futures of the people forced to live in them. This is blight without beauty, ruin without romance: payday loan stores, dollar stores, unassuming homes and unpaid bills. In the suburbs, poverty looks banal and is overlooked.

In cities, gentrifiers have the political clout - and accompanying racial privilege - to reallocate resources and repair infrastructure. The neighbourhood is “cleaned up” through the removal of its residents. Gentrifiers can then bask in “urban life” - the storied history, the selective nostalgia, the carefully sprinkled grit - while avoiding responsibility to those they displaced.

"
Tuesday 7/29/2014

(8,059 notes)

Sarah Kendzior - The peril of hipster economics (x)

(Source: mizoguchi, via thesociologist)

"Maybe my limbs are made
mostly for decoration,
like the way I feel about
persimmons. You can’t
really eat them. Or you
wouldn’t want to. If you grab
the soft skin with your fist
it somehow feels funny,
like you’ve been here
before and uncomfortable,
too, like you’d rather
squish it between your teeth
impatiently, before spitting
the soft parts back up
to linger on the tongue like
burnt sugar or guilt.
For starters, it was all
an accident, you cut
the right branch
and a sort of light
woke up underneath,
and the inedible fruit
grew dark and needy.
Think crucial hanging.
Think crayon orange.
There is one low, leaning
heart-shaped globe left
and dearest, can you
tell, I am trying
to love you less."
Wednesday 7/23/2014

(848 notes)

dreamagery;

"Crush," Ada Limón  (via commovente)
shakysmiles:

frida kahlo
Monday 7/21/2014

(50,246 notes)

shakysmiles:

frida kahlo

(via arabellesicardi)

"I’ve only spent ten percent of my energies on writing. The other ninety went to keeping my head above water."
Sunday 7/20/2014

(617 notes)

Saturday 7/19/2014

(7,008 notes)

jkjkjkjkjkjkjkjkjkjk:

some thoughts about “making things” & the internet

(via bluebunny)

Sunday 7/13/2014

(42 notes)

sometimes this is real life;

fromonesurvivortoanother:

[tw: suicide]

i did it because when I was a first year student, I WISHED i had had someone like that to help me out. someone to answer mundane questions like “where’s food service”, and more complex ones like “how do i write a research paper” and “how do i decide what to do with my life”. 

my first year of college, i had just gotten out of a very rough place in my life. i was so overwhelmed after the first day, so alone, that i stood at the top of this tower on campus and considered jumping for a good twenty minutes. i was that bad off.

the juniors and seniors i encountered my first year were distant and stuck-up. they seemed like giants who would just brush you off, or swat you like flies. i really didn’t have an older, more experienced student to help me figure things out, and even at a small school, the professors were hard to meet catch at an open time. i got lucky—i had an awesome, supportive roommate, and i had one particular professor who took me under his wing and made sure i was okay. i also went to counseling and clicked with my first counselor there.

my first semester as a TA, i was fucking terrified. there was that one student who is always there—the one who seems unreachable and who eventually fails out. there was a plagiarism issue. there were several people who just did not pay attention to basic things like deadlines. i don’t think it was an issue of not caring—they felt out of place and disconnected. i understood where they were coming from.

my second semester as a TA, someone’s grandfather died. i had another plagiarism issue. a few people dropped out. one person almost did, but the professor and i worked with him and we figured something out. 

one summer, i had a student who was an international student. it was a class on the 60’s and 70’s counterculture in the United States. to explain the Black Power and anti-racism movements of the time, i first had to explain the Civil War and slavery and all of the context behind that. we met once, sometimes twice a week, for three months because there was so much stuff that he just did not know due to his background. after a ton of work together, he got the highest grade in the class. that was pretty awesome.

eventually i learned how to be a role model. it was a weird position for someone like me who is used to being on the sidelines. suddenly, i became the center of attention, leading discussions and occasionally teaching lessons. one semester, i met with my students for the first time, and after just ten minutes of introductions, they ALL said i was the coolest TA ever. I didn’t even do anything, they just loved me right away.

i grew to adore that group—we bonded over our mutual dislike of the class and the professor’s poor teaching skills. my favorite memory of them is ordering pizza, meeting in a study room, and helping them with their research papers the night before a key due date. i still keep up with them on facebook and see how they’re doing—i’m SO proud of them. 

if you are a junior or senior at your school, please try to reach out to the incoming first year students. they NEED someone to be there. they need friends and some of them are in desperate need of a family. i got lucky. not everyone does.

(via susurrations)

"

And there she is. See Ruth. She finds herself in situations, suddenly, on strange couches of strange men, pretending to listen.

He is still talking to her about himself. She is bored. He never asks about her. He puts on a record and starts talking about the band playing but she has never heard of them. He is dumbstruck. He begins to lecture her on the band’s significance in music history, world history. She pretends to listen. She stares at her empty wineglass. She catches herself looming above her. She is her own ghost.

"
Friday 7/4/2014

(263 notes)

Kate Zambreno, Green Girl (via arabellesicardi)

(Source: emmaleejean, via arabellesicardi)