My president's black, and my lambo's blue.

When the poor lose all their money, they’re worried they might have to live on the streets.

When the rich lose all their money, they’re worried they might have to live like the poor.

tokingkitten:

you know he’s dead

tokingkitten:

you know he’s dead

chronic-genderbender:

jaredsadalecki:

breaking news: obama is not real. obama is a figment of our imaginations. this country is being run by our imaginary friend, barack obama

Breaking News: Mitt Romney campaigned against an imaginary man and still lost the presidency.


Breaking news: Conservatives still completely unaware of what a punchline is.

chronic-genderbender:

jaredsadalecki:

breaking news: obama is not real. obama is a figment of our imaginations. this country is being run by our imaginary friend, barack obama

Breaking News: Mitt Romney campaigned against an imaginary man and still lost the presidency.

Breaking news: Conservatives still completely unaware of what a punchline is.

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #408 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:
I think she has roots in the soles of her feetand when she walksshe plants herself into the earthand lets the earth take hold of her.I think if you listened close enoughfor long enoughyou could just make out the soundof those roots in those soleslifting through the soilsighing in the sunlightand digging their way back into the darknesswith each and every step.I’ve met people who are fire,all flame and spark and the promiseof combustion.Without fail and without doubtI’ve been burned and boiledand left with nothing but the residueof the ash they left behind on my skin.I’ve felt the breezes of people who are wind,airy and light and always drifting.They cool the soul and for a momentyou close your eyes and feel theirbreath across your face but always,always, open them sometime or anotherto their absence.  They always,always, blow away and you’re leftwith tousled hair and the numbness wherethey rested.I think I am the water and I think I alwayshave been.  I go my own way and somehowwithout knowing how, find my way through thecracks and crevices, the grooves and holesin the rocks that form around thesefragile hearts.I think she is the earth and has rootsin her soles and leaves in her hair.She curls her toes into the sand andbraces herself against the wind,defiant against the flamesand holds tight to the world as itspins beneath her.  We spin and onlyshe can feel it. I think she has roots and her rootsneed water and I am the water and alwayshave been and know and hold the secretsto sinking beneath the soilto give strength to the growththat’s been waiting to come.Some people are fireand some are windbut we are water and earthand through the roots on herfeet and the leaves in her hairshe will drink me and absorball I have ever been.I can hear the soundof her footstepsnow.

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #408 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for Tired Eyes:

I think she has roots in the soles of her feet
and when she walks
she plants herself into the earth
and lets the earth take hold of her.
I think if you listened close enough
for long enough
you could just make out the sound
of those roots in those soles
lifting through the soil
sighing in the sunlight
and digging their way back into the darkness
with each and every step.
I’ve met people who are fire,
all flame and spark and the promise
of combustion.
Without fail and without doubt
I’ve been burned and boiled
and left with nothing but the residue
of the ash they left behind on my skin.
I’ve felt the breezes of people who are wind,
airy and light and always drifting.
They cool the soul and for a moment
you close your eyes and feel their
breath across your face but always,
always, open them sometime or another
to their absence.  They always,
always, blow away and you’re left
with tousled hair and the numbness where
they rested.
I think I am the water and I think I always
have been.  I go my own way and somehow
without knowing how, find my way through the
cracks and crevices, the grooves and holes
in the rocks that form around these
fragile hearts.
I think she is the earth and has roots
in her soles and leaves in her hair.
She curls her toes into the sand and
braces herself against the wind,
defiant against the flames
and holds tight to the world as it
spins beneath her.  We spin and only
she can feel it.
I think she has roots and her roots
need water and I am the water and always
have been and know and hold the secrets
to sinking beneath the soil
to give strength to the growth
that’s been waiting to come.
Some people are fire
and some are wind
but we are water and earth
and through the roots on her
feet and the leaves in her hair
she will drink me and absorb
all I have ever been.

I can hear the sound
of her footsteps
now.

poopflow:

i thank god every day that i didnt have a scene phase

I don’t care that you got into drugs for three months straight, or how much sleep you lost in that period. I don’t care that you went home and fucked that person and woke up at 6am hating everything about yourself, or that you smoked so much you sounded as though your lungs were giving out.

You’re not a bad person for the ways you tried to kill your sadness.

You’re just human, and being human means you need to survive and you do so whichever way you deem fit, fuck everyone else.

H.E. (via socratic-thinker)

ruinedchildhood:

If Dr. Seuss Books Were About Kanye

buddh1sm:

thatsgoodweed:

Nothing is illegal in space

Seriously my favorite picture of all time

buddh1sm:

thatsgoodweed:

Nothing is illegal in space

Seriously my favorite picture of all time

new pinterest rule bans photos without mason jars, site remains unaffected