impulse
AMERICAN HORROR STORY →

sickkkko:

SEASON ONE

  1. Pilot
  2. Home Invasion
  3. Murder House
  4. Halloween Part 1
  5. Halloween Part 2
  6. Piggy Piggy
  7. Open House
  8. Rubber Man
  9. Spooky Little Girl
  10. Smoldering Children
  11. Birth
  12. After Birth

SEASON TWO

  1. Welcome to Briarcliff
  2. Tricks and Treats
  3. Nor’easter

1. Lay on the floor of your shower until you can breathe again. Water will always love to love your skin.

2. Start writing with the intention of filling up one page. Write until your pen stops working.

3. Reread a book that once made you cry. Learn something new on every page. Notice how different chapter make you sad. Notice how the book didn’t change and grow; you did.

4. Sleep with your windows open. You can hear both the rain and boys drunkenly singing Frank Sinatra on their deck. Both are equally good.

5. Don’t forget that honey will always taste sweet, but the best way to eat it is off your fingers, laughing.

6. Remember that, sometimes, getting out of bed is enough.


 For unhappy girls who like sitting in the sun (h.f.j.)

(via melissadelrey)

timelightbox:

Photograph by Reuters
Feb. 13, 2014. An activist from the “Right Sector” anti-government protest group presents a bouquet of flowers to his girlfriend in front of fellow activists near the site of previous clashes with riot police in Kiev, Ukraine. 
From the most reputable gay club in Sochi and a sinkhole at the Corvette Museum in Kentucky to the Westminster Dog Show in New York and the killing of the healthy giraffe, Marius, at the Copenhagen Zoo, TIME presents the best pictures of the week. 


Feb. 13th

"I like punk rock. I like girls with weird eyes. I like drugs. I like passion. I like things that are built well. I like innocence. I like and am grateful for the blue collar worker whose existence allows artists to not have to work at menial jobs. I like killing gluttony. I like playing my cards wrong. I like various styles of music. I like making fun of musicians whom I feel plagiarize or offend music as art by exploiting their embarrassingly pathetic versions of their work. I like to write poetry. I like to ignore others’ poetry. I like vinyl. I like nature and animals. I like to be by myself. I like to feel guilty for being a white, American Male."
- Kurt Cobain
hiromitsu:

untitled by cabinadelafoto on Flickr.

a masterpost of movies that relate to adolescence, love, partying, etc.
stuck in love / bandslam / sixteen candles / clueless / 10 things i hate about you / breakfast club / easy A / girl, interrupted / the runaways / ferris bueller’s day off / thirteen / the to do list / friends with benefits / crazy, stupid love / what a girl wants / 500 days of summer / perks of being a wallflower / the art of getting by / it’s kind of a funny story / the virgin suicides / the bling ring / john tucker must die / project x / freaky friday / LOL / the last song / dazed and confused / the social network / spring breakers / cyberbully / mean girls / the great gatsby / mouth to mouth / silver linings playbook / the internship
when she was 7, a boy pushed her on the playground
she fell headfirst into the dirt and came up with a mouthful of gravel and lines of blood chasing each other down her legs
when she told her teacher what happened, she laughed and said ‘boys will be boys honey don’t let it bother you
he probably just thinks you’re cute’
but the thing is,
when you tell a little girl who has rocks in her teeth and scabs on her knees that hurt and attention are the same
you teach her that boys show their affection through aggression
and she grows into a young woman who constantly mistakes the two
because no one ever taught her the difference
‘boys will be boys’
turns into
‘that’s how he shows his love’
and bruises start to feel like the imprint of lips
she goes to school with a busted mouth in high school and says she was hit with a basketball instead of his fist
the one adult she tells scolds her
‘you know he loses his temper easily
why the hell did you have to provoke him?’
so she shrinks
folds into herself, flinches every time a man raises his voice
by the time she’s 16 she’s learned her job well
be quiet, be soft, be easy
don’t give him a reason
but for all her efforts, he still finds one
‘boys will be boys’ rings in her head
‘boys will be boys
he doesn’t mean it
he can’t help it’
she’s 7 years old on the playground again
with a mouth full of rocks and blood that tastes like copper love
because boys will be boys baby don’t you know
that’s just how he shows he cares
she’s 18 now and they’re drunk
in the split second it takes for her words to enter his ears they’re ruined
like a glass heirloom being dropped between the hands of generations
she meant them to open his arms but they curl his fists and suddenly his hands are on her and her head hits the wall and all of the goddamn words in the world couldn’t save them in this moment
she touches the bruise the next day
boys will be boys
aggression, affection, violence, love
how does she separate them when she learned so early that they’re inextricably bound, tangled in a constant tug-of-war
she draws tally marks on her walls ratios of kisses to bruises
one entire side of her bedroom turns purple, one entire side of her body
boys will be boys will be boys will be boys
when she’s 20, a boy touches her hips and she jumps
he asks her who the hell taught her to be scared like that and she wants to laugh
doesn’t he know that boys will be boys?
it took her 13 years to unlearn that lesson from the playground
so I guess what I’m trying to say is
i will talk until my voice is hoarse so that my little sister understands that aggression and affection are two entirely separate things
baby they exist in difference universes
my niece can’t even speak yet but I think I’ll start with her now
don’t ever accept the excuse that boys will be boys
don’t ever let him put his hands on you like that
if you see hate blazing in his eyes don’t you ever confuse it with love
baby love won’t hurt when it comes
you won’t have to hide it under long sleeves during the summer
and
the only reason he should ever reach out his hand
is to hold yours

Fortesa Latifi - Boys Will Be Boys 

(And Why That Is The Stupidest Thing You Could Ever Say To A Little Girl)

(Source: madgirlf, via raz-razbliuto)

"Good Morning"
“How was your day?”
“Be careful”
“Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe”
“Sweet dreams”
“How are you?”
“I hope you’re feeling better”
“Have a good day today!”
“I miss you”
“Good night”
“Can you come over?”
“Can I come over?”
“Can I see you?”
“Can I call you?”
“You’re beautiful”
“Want something to drink?”
“Watch your step”
“Let’s watch a movie”
“What are you up to?”
“How is your day so far?”
“It will be okay”
“I’m here for you”
“Do you need anything?”
“Are you hungry?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice”
“You just made my day”


You don’t have to hear “I Love You” to know that someone does. Listen carefully. People speak from the heart more often than you think.


(via bl-ossomed)

(Source: blocklava, via bl1ndsided)

The second time I overdosed,
my body couldn’t handle it,
and I threw it all up.
I texted my dad saying,
“I think I took a little too many pills”.

And every time I’ve overdosed,
I always downplay it.
I’ve always tried to act
like it wasn’t a big deal.

That having the urge to swallow a whole bottle of pills
was something daily that normal people do.
My dad hurried home and saw the empty bottle
and he shook me to make sure I was awake.
I kept mumbling “I threw it up.. I threw it up..”
while I was drifting off to sleep.
He had to wake me up every 15 minutes
to make sure I was okay.

Let me tell you now,
it is a big deal.

The third time I overdosed,
I slept through first and second period
and passed out in the counselor’s office.
I didn’t want to go to the ER.
I just wanted to go home.
All I wanted to do was sleep.
Again, I just said,
“I think I took too many pills this morning.”

The fifth time I overdosed,
my dad found the empty pill box.
I hallucinated, I had a fever.
I couldn’t move my legs.
All I could do was scream,
“Don’t take me to the hospital this time.
I don’t want to go!”

I became friends with a girl who had overdosed
she’s one of my best friends now
and when I heard she was hospitalized as well,
it just makes me realize how real this problem is.

A couple months ago, another friend of mine overdosed.
Do you realize how fucked up it is,
that I’ve done it so many times
that I know the exact procedure that she’s going to go through?
She messaged me saying,
“I took a bunch of pills,
but I just realized I didn’t want to die.
I don’t know what to do.
Help.”

And I’m screaming at her over the screen
that she should throw it up and call 911
because sometimes when someone you love
decides that they hate the world,
that’s all you can do.
You can’t teleport through the phone.
You can’t travel through the internet.
You can’t be there to hold them
and take them to the hospital.

Your love is not charcoal that can
absorb all their poison in their life.
I know, love that you would have done all you could.
Sometimes words aren’t enough.
Sometimes love isn’t enough.
Sometimes a person needs to try dying
to know that that’s not really what they want.
There’s nothing you could have done.
You’ve done all you could.
Just keep loving them.

But you see the thing is,
I got lucky.
I’ve made it back from 5 overdoses
without a scratch on me.
But that’s not always the case.
My favorite teacher’s stepdaughter
locked herself in her room and overdosed.

To this day,
her stepmother still has a scar on her heart.
To this day,
on the anniversary of her death,
her stepmother still stays home from school
on the anniversary of her death.
Her sister is in a bad mental state,
and so is her biological mother.
Her family has fallen apart.

You overdose because you think
you will get a peaceful release from death.
It’s not peaceful.
It is not like falling asleep.
It is convulsions, vomiting,
muscle spasms, fevers,
and sharp stomach pains.

An overdose is not instant.

Hollywood has you believing,
that an overdose
is how a lady should exit the world.
As quiet as she came in,
Peaceful and unnoticed.

You will go out kicking and screaming
and wishing you hadn’t taken them.


6:03 p.m. (I think I’m done overdosing)

Dedicated to Rae

(via thewastedgeneration)

(Source: angryasianfeminist, via hittings)

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