moniquill:

midgetsonfire:

lizzzardt:

delusioninabox:

Daily #207. Effort is not something that can be measured by outcome, but only by your own heart. That, at least, is what I believe.

This was actually the beginning and end to a longer piece I had written, but I cut out the entire middle - which was my personal experiences with school and competitions - because it was too difficult to draw, and also too long.

yep, pretty much. 

Yeah this is it

I’ve never been able to put this into words

fucking THIS.

My favorite is when there are ten thousand directions that need attention, so you pick one and give it your all, and then the people around you inform you that YOU CHOSE THE WRONG ONE, EFFORT INVALID, WHY DIDN’T YOU DO THIS OTHER THING INSTEAD?!

knittedlampshade:

unlearning problematic behavior is a long ass process

you will fuck up

handle it gracefully.

(via jhameia)

alexandraerin:

tinyhousesmallspace:

JJ Caboose

There’s a state park in Nebraska that has rental cabins in old cabooses. I’ve always wanted to stay there for a long weekend by myself.

beyondvictoriana:

Your dose of cuteness for today.

Steampunk Pokemon by *dreamwatcher7 Source

ghostsystems:

hidden-agender:

Tumblr has been absolutely crucial in helping me recognize and rectify all sorts of ugly bigotry I didn’t know I had.

Tumblr has actually taught me a lot about a lot of things I didn’t know when it comes to sociology, and -isms in our society. I’ve learned a lot more about how people feel about appropriation, about what it is and isn’t, and how it affects lots of different people.

(via moniquill)

chelsahhdelic:

hand-painted scarf (etsy)

(via moniquill)

(via moniquill)

jhameia:

“White men, they get nervous when another race gets a little power, ‘cause they’re scare that that race is going to to do them what they did to that race. So they start screaming, ‘Reverse racism! This is reverse racism!’ Wait a minute, isn’t reverse racism when a racist is nice to other people? That’s reverse racism. What you’re afraid of is Karma.”

—

Wanda Sykes (via barteredlantern)

textuallyaroused:

I started going to the dojo when I was in sixth grade. It was a very masculine environment; there weren’t a lot of other girls there but the male senseis who ran the place were great guys and they genuinely loved having female students because we were such a rarity.

Now back in sixth grade I was tinier even than what I am now, and now I’m only 5’2. Then I was probably even under 5’0. I mean I was a squirt of a kid. But I loved to fight; I loved to be in the ring, I loved the adrenaline rush and I loved having punches hurled at me. It was fun for me. Our dojo did full-contact sparring, which was pretty brutal. These were the only rules:

• you must wear a mouth guard and gloves
• no hits below the belt

That’s pretty much it.

Anyway every Thursday was Fight Night, where all we did was spar each other. And on my First Night Sensei Diven—who has since passed, bless his soul—paired me up with this really cocky and assholish brown belt to show me the ropes a little. This brown belt kid was bigger than me by a lot; he must have been at least six feet and twice my weight. But man was I excited to get into the ring! I had a fight boiling in my blood.

Now, Sensei Diven was not a stupid man and he hated high-ranking kids that showed a bad attitude. This kid had a bad attitude. So he must have seen the evil gleam in my eye from a mile away and decided it was time for a little improvisation.

Anyway, Sensei yelled, “Start!” and I leapt into fight stance and the other kid didn’t even put his hands up. He was laughing at me, sneering, the whole nine yards. “I’ll give you a free one.” he joked, and he slapped his side. “You barely weigh 100 pounds and you’re a girl. So go ahead, little girl. Hit me.”

And I hit him. I cocked my leg up as high as it would go and roundhouse kicked him right in the ribs with all of my might and all of the contempt I felt for his stupid cocky face which was covered in ugly-ass freckles and his nasty-ass braces. And I heard a crack. Like a real snap! sound. And the kid has a look of surprise on his face like it was nobody’s business, and then he goes right to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Now, Sensei Diven leisurely strolls over from the group of black belts who are laughing their asses off at me, the tiny little white belt, sending my Goliath to the floor. I mean they’re laughing so hard they look like they’re about to pee themselves. They think it’s a game. And in his great booming voice he hollers:

“Brown Belt! Why are you on the floor? Do you not see this white belt has been assigned to fight you?”

And meanwhile he is just crying. I broke one of his ribs.

And Sensei Diven just squats down next to this poor kid and whispers, “Don’t you know that women are made of pain?”

(via jhameia)

girljanitor:

It still kinda of amazes me the amount of people who cannot grasp the fact that the books and comics we read, the shows and movies we watch, the magazine articles and online material we consume, is created on purpose by a human or group of humans, and those humans are responsible for both what they have created and the attitudes their creation reveals about them.

Art reveals the artist whether or not anyone wants it to. Isn’t that kind of the point?

And to those who say stuff like, “why can’t you just *enjoy* it”…

what is best in life, Conan?

1. to think critically

2. to deconstruct every piece of art’s value and place in society

3. to hear the lamentations of the fandom

(via moniquill)