bella102:

Hunter and Eagle, Western Mongolia
visitheworld:

Colours of Shahi Zinda necropolis complex in Samarkand, Uzbekistan (by tulipan7).
princess-veyonce:


“Mad was the last kid I saw and he was asleep. He was 3 months old and they put him in my arms and he stayed asleep and they put him in the bath and he stayed asleep and I thought he was narcoleptic or something. Then he opened his eyes and just stared at me for the longest time and I just stared at him and I started crying and he smiled. And it wasn’t that he smiled that he liked me, it was just that I hadn’t held children in my life and I was always considered so dark and I always had so many things that made me feel like maybe I shouldn’t be somebody’s mom because certainly the world has an opinion of me and I’m not so sure about myself and am I gonna be the best mom? So the fact that this little kid seemed at ease gave me the courage to feel like I could make him happy. And so we became a family right then.” — Angelina Jolie

i wonder what happened to his birth parents
endilletante:

Femmes du Rajasthan de Jean-Luc Laloux, Editions Chêne/Hachette, 1981.

candymandie:

‘get back in the kitchen’

sure

be sexist and send me back to a room full of sharp things, poisons, cleaning agents and food I can hide all that shit in

I’ll go back in the kitchen

but you’re leaving the house in a bodybag

opinionated-vegan:

“Anyone who cares about the Earth – really cares – must stop eating animals.”

~ Linda McCartney

so my natty dreads are growing and forming quite nicely

I want my eyelashes to be as black as my soul and as long as the list of people I hate.

journeyearth:

Natural Geometry by Chris Miller
somewhereinthisuniverse:

Little fellow by delviking on Flickr.

do any of you even know my name

beatforbeat:

This woman is so courageous. I see this photo around a lot and have a bit of a story associated with it, as it happens. 
In Berlin, I went to watch the Eurocup semis at the Brandenburg Gate with a Canadian girl I’d just met that day. While there, we met two American guys, an Irishman and a Swedish guy, whom we got along with well. After the match, I went clubbing with the two Americans. The one I got on with better was a footballer-type, super assertive, clearly going for the “alpha-male image” kind of guy. If I’d been at home and sober, I’d have thought he was a dick, but in this context he was fun.
So we’re at a club and we’re hooking up and eventually he’s like, “So do you want to get out of here?” 
I say, “Sure,” because it’s about 3am and I could deal with some fresh air. We end up getting a cab after walking around for a while and he tells the driver we’re going to Hackesher Markt, where his hostel was. I hear this and have the wherewithal to add in German that I wanted to go to Kreuzberg, where my hostel was, first. He doesn’t give me any shit about it and we part on good terms. 
Anyway, we become friends on Facebook eventually and soon after, I notice that he’s commented on this photo, agreeing with some fuck who’s said that drunk girls who flirt with guys get what they deserve if sex rape happens later. 
We are not friends anymore, needless to say. For days afterwards I couldn’t stop thinking about how differently that night could have gone.
endilletante:

Bruno Barbey, Photo Poche, Nathan, 1999. Introduction de Annick Cojean.
Bombay, 1980.
towards-happier-things:

love—lindsay:

its so wrong and sad that this even needs to be said.
Read the Printed Word!