Running through The Louvre, from Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Dreamers.
Today the filmmaker turns 74. And to this day The Louvre forbids running.
7:35 pm • 23 April 2014 • 23,449 notes
this was the cutest thing and also literally how i handle anyone being mad at me
7:34 pm • 23 April 2014 • 134,342 notes
“I’m definitely pro-selfie. I think that anybody who’s anti-selfie is really just a hater. Because, truthfully, why shouldn’t people take pictures of themselves? When I’m on Instagram and I see that somebody took a picture of themselves, I’m like, ‘Thank you.’ I don’t need to see a picture of the sky, the trees, plants. There’s only one you. I could Google image search ‘the sky’ and I would probably see beautiful images to knock my socks off. But I can’t Google, you know, ‘What does my friend look like today?’ For you to be able to take a picture of yourself that you feel good enough about to share with the world – I think that’s a great thing.”
— Ezra Koenig being an angel [x] (via erohwid)
(Source: reti-cent, via rosettaspeke)
7:34 pm • 23 April 2014 • 129,564 notes
“What I know of survival is this:
how to adjust my body around the cool spots in bed,
the way my hair is never exactly right
when I leave the house for a hopeful second date,
the imprint of my bra on my skin after coming home
and letting my dress pool at my feet.
Missing you and missing you.
I eat olives and arugula standing up in the kitchen,
wearing nothing except underwear and pearls.
I do not recognize myself.
Being sad only makes me thirsty.
I drink two glasses of water, take an aspirin,
dance with myself slowly in the living room.
Everything comes back to me in moments—
flashes of your skin, the freckles on your chest,
your perfect wrists, a kneecap, the small of your back.
I peel away the sadness to get down to the pit of the thing
and can never quite manage to finish it.
My hands smell like oranges, clove cigarettes.
Pounds of sadness. I get out of bed. I run the bath.
Chocolate shavings and blueberries for lunch.
Little things, but I am handling it.
Yesterday, I almost called you to tell you that I love you,
but then I remembered I’m not allowed to say it anymore,
and it is awful. You are with me even when I brush my teeth.”
— Kristina Haynes, “Love So Good That I Forgot to Say ‘Ouch’” (via proudnewsunburns)
7:05 pm • 23 April 2014 • 7,796 notes
Men want what they want.
So much of our culture caters to giving men what they want. A high school student invites model Kate Upton to attend his prom, and he’s congratulated for his audacity. A male fan at a Beyoncé concert reaches up to the stage to slap her ass because her ass is there, her ass is magnificent, and he wants to feel it. The science fiction fandom community is once again having a heated discussion, across the Internet, about the ongoing problem of sexual harassment at conventions — countless women are telling all manner of stories about how, without their consent, they are groped, ogled, lured into hotel rooms under false pretenses, physically lifted off the ground, and more.
But men want what they want. We should all lighten up.
It’s hard not to feel humorless as a woman and a feminist, to recognize misogyny in so many forms, some great and some small, and know you’re not imagining things. It’s hard to be told to lighten up because if you lighten up any more, you’re going to float the fuck away. The problem is not that one of these things is happening, it’s that they are all happening, concurrently and constantly.
These are just songs. They are just jokes. They are just movies. It’s just a hug. They’re just breasts. Smile, you’re beautiful. Can’t a man pay you a compliment? In truth, this is all a symptom of a much more virulent cultural sickness — one where women exist to satisfy the whims of men, one where a woman’s worth is consistently diminished or entirely ignored.
What Men Want, America Delivers - from the inimitable Roxane Gay (via jessicavalenti)
This is perfect.
7:04 pm • 23 April 2014 • 51,050 notes
Salar de Uyuni (Bolivia) by night.
"When the night comes, the starry sky reflects on its surface like in a mirror, and you have the feeling of being in space.
(Source: tsumetaiyozora, via gentle-insomnia)
7:03 pm • 23 April 2014 • 219,340 notes
“I want to be in a relationship where you telling me you love me is just a ceremonious validation of what you already show me.”
— Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free (via fuckyeahexistentialism)
(Source: mourningmelody, via fuckyeahwomenprotesting)
7:03 pm • 23 April 2014 • 1,020 notes