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YOU ARE THE REASON
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Not today Justin

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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@everydaycleanslate

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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If you came in company with a purple lion, a green elephant, and a scarlet unicorn astride which was the King of England in his Royal Robes, I do believe that it is you and you alone that people would stare at, dismissing others as minor irrelevances.
"You can't tell me not to kiss you while you're holding my face" "I know. But I feel like I have to keep touching you because if not you might disappear and I'll have to come to the realization that you're not real and I've just imagined this moment into existence."
If I had a say in the matter, my life would be lit only by candle and twinkle light.
I'll sit in times square When I'm drunk or high And listening to the people and Smile or wish for their demise. Is it possible to love or hate a place or People so much? Is that what draws me or keeps me? Is that love?

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life finds a way
This is mesmerizing to watch.
actually physically painful to watch because you know months were spent masking all those frames for each of the kajillions of transitions in this
Holy………..shmokes…….
Oh?? My god??
But now it was hard to remember ever feeling innocent and audacious enough to dream of a certain type of life, as if you got to choose how things turned out.
Big Little Lies
I’m not sure...
I’m not sure if today is a special case because I should have taken my birth control but didn’t and now my emotions and hormones are all running with the speed and directional intelligence of a toddler on a sugar rush, or that this is really bothering that much. But I haven’t been able to stop tearing up. I’d allow myself to full on ball hysterically if I weren’t currently at my place of work. I can’t seem to focus on anything else. A little more context is needed.
While rolling through my Facebook feed I saw a post from my cuddly, motorcycle-loving, lovable uncle. The post was about his support of Trump and not only his personal support but using his business as a means of support.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Normally I can scroll past a Trump supporter without a second thought. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. But this man is my family. All I could do was react with a “sad” face. I couldn’t type a comment, I don’t want anymore hatred being added to this world, if directed at me or otherwise.
Now I keep thinking if everyone’s cuddly, motorcycle-loving, lovable uncle is a Trump supporter then what will happen? I can’t stop myself from thinking, “What-If?” Cue more tears.
I’m not sure if this is a hormonal over reaction. (I know one contemptuous, dusty-haired, loud mouth who would certainly say it is.) But what I am sure of is that never in my life have I had such a strong, immediate reaction to the goings-on in the political world. Never in my life has politics made me fear so strongly for myself and millions of others, both in my country and not. Never in my life have I seen so much hate on a broad, unreachable scale. Never in my life as my uncle made me cry.
The thing is...
The thing is I’ve never considered myself I writer. I’m usually the listener, the thinker, the talker. Listen-think-talk. My fingers can never can catch up with my brain.
Don’t even get my starter on spelling. Good luck to the kids that grew up from birth with spell-check. They have even less of a chance than I did.
But I’m finding as I’m finally really diving into doing the work, that will get me to do the other work that I really want to do that, the fundamental step of calling myself I writer has never really been there.
My best friend Kate is a writer. Ever since I’ve know her she’s had journals and always put her ideas down on paper. It is a quality I’ve always admired and from watcher her grow as a writer I can see the hours upon hours she has put in from childhood has definitely paid off.
Am I able to put in those same hours? Is it is even worth it? At this point, I wouldn’t feel right calling myself a writer. I;m nothing like Kate. It’s too late. Isn’t it?
I take comfort in the cliche, “it’s never to late to start over” or “...to keep learning.” But is that really true? Old people always say that. But is it enough?

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What am I gunna do about you?
“If I knew that today would be the last time I’d see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I’d embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for one more. If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice, I’d take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I see you, I’d tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already.”—Gabriel García Márquez
Rest In Peace (March 6, 1927—April 17, 2014)
my mom told me that in high school she use to get boyfriends at the beginning of February so they had enough time to get her a valentines day gift and then break up with them the day after and just keep the gift and one day she told her parents about it and they made her keep her boyfriend at least until the end of February and so she did and that boy is now my dad
In San Francisco last year, a man stabbed a woman in the face and arm after she didn’t respond positively to his sexually harassing her on the street. In Bradenton, Fla., a man shot a high school senior to death after she and her friends refused to perform oral sex at his request. In Chicago, a scared 15-year-old was hit by a car and died after she tried escaping from harassers on a bus. Again, in Chicago, a man grabbed a 19-year-old walking on a public thoroughfare, pulled her onto a gangway and assaulted her. In Savannah, Georgia, a woman was walking alone at night and three men approached her. She ignored them, but they pushed her to the ground and sexually assaulted her. In Manhattan, a 29-year-old pregnant woman was killed when men catcalling from a van drove onto the sidewalk and hit her and her friend. Last week, a runner in California — a woman — was stopped and asked, by a strange man in a car, if she wanted a ride. When she declined he ran her over twice. FUCK YOU if you think that street harassment is a “compliment” or “no big deal” or that it’s “irrational” of us to be afraid because “what’s actually gonna happen.” Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you some more.
Street Harassment: Is a Man Running Over a 14-Year Old Girl for Refusing Sex Serious Enough? | Soraya Chemaly (via mooncrumbs)

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GUYS
THEY ARE TRYING TO TAKE THE ENDANGERED SPECIES ACT DOWN
AND REPLACE IT WITH THE BULLSHIT ENDANGERED SPECIES MANAGEMENT SELF-DETERMINATION ACT
THAT ALLOWS STATES TO DECIDE IF THEY EVEN WANT TO ABIDE BY LAWS PROTECTING SPECIES AT ALL
AND DELISTS SPECIES AFTER ONLY FIVE YEARS
DOES ANYONE ELSE EVEN CARE
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Petition
SIGNAL BOOST!
Why is there 32,000 notes on this but only 4,000 signatures
The world better hope Night at the Museum isn't really because Teddy will be going on a rampage!!
Ladies, here’s an idea. How about reblogging this if you’re the type of woman that just doesn’t give two shits about what anyone thinks of you? If you’re the woman that doesn’t pontificate about your long distance internet boyfriend you refer to as SIR, or Daddy. Nor do you post endless inspirational quotes that refer to your strength as a woman, because…well, you’re too tough for that insipid shit. You’re strong, you’re tough, you’re sexy, and you know it, and fuck anyone that doesn’t share it. Reblog if your Tumblr is enough for you, and you don’t need to constantly share and repeat compliments you receive from strangers. Nor do you need to post the stupid rantings of idiots, in order to have other insipid strangers come to your defense. Reblog, because…you’re just fucking epic. Peace.
...and for Amy Winehouse.