lapalomaazul:

take comida tipica a try to make it ‘better’ by taking all the actually flavorful things out of it and replacing them with kale and shit. thats not our food. if you want to eat low-fat low-carb low-flavor come up with your own shit.

but they usually go eat our dishes ‘on site’ while smiling patronizingly at brown people and then taking our recipes back with them to fuck them up in their own kitchens. they literally consume our culture and pretend they are respecting it but really sending the message that white people do everything better, even brown culture. then they portion them into servings the size of my thumb and charge fifty dollars for it. well, they can keep their bastardized tasteless ‘cuisine’ and shove it. i’ll keep my buttery salty delicious homemade comida thankyouverymuch.

^THIS SO MUCH OH MY GOD^

lahoops:

Roberto was arrested for driving without a license while on his way home from a friend’s house. He spent the night in jail and, despite being released, faces deportation to a country he hasn’t been to in 10 years. Roberto, who is only 17 years old, goes to school and aspires to…

fyattic:

When this came out it scared the living shit out of me. that was back in the day when i didn’t really know the safety of the internet and not to open certain emails. So i got this mail and and was like, oh cool a puzzle Im up for the challenge! And i remember i was a few blocks away until my…

visceralmoue:

• strained forearms
• raw hands
• sore throat?!?!?!?!
• bruised pride (was finally defeated by a climbing wall)
• swelled pride (I got farther up that wall than any of my friends, so I am still Rock Climbing Queen. :DDD Perks of being an inch taller than my only best friend who DOESN’T have carpal…

Hey, 3 courses blindfolded, beating Lauren’s  (who is considerably taller wiht a much a faster and easier reach) blindfold time so…

that inch makes a big as difference. Also your fingers are longer and stronger. (it takes more strength to hold down cello strings than violing strings you guys)

queerveins:

gabrielgadfly:

September, 1918

It has been a year,
two months, five days
and this morning
since last my eyes
were full of you.

I do not know where
your head last slept,
where last you stepped,
where your body
my god save it
carries you right now.
I cannot even hear
the guns from here.
I cannot even hear them
and the post man
never brings news.

I am going out to sea.
I have stolen father’s boat
and a hundred bottles
from the milk man’s shop.

I will sail out as far as I dare
and fill the sea with them
and beg the world to spin
a bottle into your hands,
in every one, a letter to you
and a lock of my hair.

I have shorn it all off!
I have worried it out
and I have torn it out
and you may not think
me beautiful when
you finally come home
my god bring him home
but at least you will be home
and I hope, I hope safely.

This poem © Gabriel Gadfly. Published May 19, 2012

I read his poetry at school and everyone judges me for it.

I don’t!!!!! Well, if I do, it’s  ’why are you that awesome?”