(Source: behindthebakery)
“If I Were A Banned Book
If I were a banned book, I’d be the dirty bits and the heaving breasts and the twisted sheets and the scented oils and the chains and rope and dripping candle wax. I would coax you into multiples, and I would urge you to invite another. I’d be the empty bottle of gin on the kitchen table. I’d promise to call, but never would.
If I were a banned book, I’d tell you to challenge authority and question everything and demand answers. I’d tell you that the 1 percent is nothing without the rest of us labeling the 1 percent the 1 percent. I’d teach you to cook anarchy and embrace diversity and kiss your same-gender lover in public.
If I were a banned book, I’d let you ask me about sex and growing up, and I’d sing the caged-bird songs, and I’d be each of the nobodies who would answer to the name nobody. I’d teach you to sail a raft and swim against tides and dance in towns where dances aren’t danced.
If I were a banned book, I’d be the light on long-past midnight in your attic, and I’d be the cauldron around which dance witches and in which fire burns and toil and trouble doubles.
If I were a banned book, I’d bring flowers to the grave of a mouse and I’d teach you that forever sometimes means forever and sometimes means less than forever but always means what forever will mean to you, then, at that moment.
If I were a banned book, I’d be the secrets you write in your diary and I’d be the lies you write in your diary and I’d be the truths that you wish weren’t truths that you write in your diary.
If I were a banned book, I’d be cupboards and wardrobes and the hidden door under a stairwell in which lives the boy who lived. I’d be beanstalks and magic shoes and godmothers, winged and otherwise. I’d be potion poultice poetry. I’d be words wings wizardry.
If I were a banned book, I’d dance with insects outside of an enormous peach, and I’d race wolves in woods overgrown with ivy and snow. I’d be the substitute teacher who’d let you smoke cigarettes outside. I’d be the comic book hidden behind your history book.
If I were a banned book, I’d urge you to go ask Alice, and wrinkle time, and ride in talking cars. Everyday, I’d crown a new king fly-lord, and everyday would be a good day to say goodbye to something.
If I were a banned book, I’d be the Pigman and I’d be a Wallflower and I’d be the story of Sleeping Beauty, written under a penname. I’d kill mockingbirds and I’d talk about the things we talk about when we talk about things like death and love and sex and forever, which, as I already would have taught you, sometimes means less than forever but always mean what forever will mean to you, then, at that moment.
”
some highlights ok ill stop talking about it now it was just so funny omg
Hope is all we have.
(Source: romolas)
“This is a Holmes knocked from the pedestal of the dispassionate gentleman detective. His relationship with his addiction forms the core of his character, of secondary importance only to Watson in his development throughout the season. And Jonny Lee Miller’s fantastic incarnation of Holmes makes sure we feel the weight of addiction in a show that takes it seriously. He suffers the aftermath, and must face the realities of recovery — no easy thing for a man who trades on the illusion of invincibility with all the gusto of the Conan Doyle original.
Also keeping him humble: his supporting cast. There’s a popular misconception — the fault of many an adaptation — that Holmes is a supergenius accompanied by an admiring everyman and surrounded by dunces. Conan Doyle’s Watson and Gregson would beg to differ, and so this Holmes lives in no such vacuum; he’s never the only clever person in a room. When he reveals his addiction, Gregson (not unkindly) points out that as a detective, he had that covered. His sponsor Alfredo’s skills in the repossessionary arts outclass Holmes’s by a mile. He acknowledges Moriarty as more than a match for himself. Even housekeeper/librarian Ms. Hudson has the effortless memory to which Holmes aspires.
And in Watson, he’s found an equal — and that’s what the show’s not-so-secretly about.
”
The TOP RIM OF WILL’S GLASSES are strategically positioned to BLOCK JACK’S EYES and prevent direct eye-contact.
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Jack gently pushes Will’s glasses up the bridge of his nose so he's forced to make fleeting eye contact.Hannibal, S01E01 Illustrated Script.
(Source: doomslock)
Hi everybody,
So I’ve been on-and-off Tumblr a lot recently, but for the last two weeks it’s been because of a family emergency. Rosa, my little sister (well, okay, she’s 23, but she’s little to me), had a serious fall while she was rock climbing with a friend in Moab. She fractured some ribs, got a concussion, and injured her spine really badly — she’s paralyzed from the waist down. I’ve been out in Colorado, first with Rosa at the hospital in Grand Junction to which she got coptered from Moab, and then to get her settled in for longer-term rehab in Denver.
My family and Rosa’s friends are running a fundraising campaign to pay for Rosa’s medical expenses (two months of inpatient spinal rehab alone is looking like it’ll cost us at least $40,000, and that’s even with insurance paying for 80% of the first month. Just the ambulance transport from Grand Junction to Denver cost $4,000); for my mom, my stepdad and me to take turns visiting Rosa at Craig Hospital in Denver this summer as all of us live 2,000 miles away on the East Coast; and to give Rosa some support post-rehab — accessible housing, continued occupational and physical therapy, the whole shebang.
Rosa is one of the most active, athletic, stubborn, badass people I know. She hikes, races, mountain bikes, skis, snowboards, rock climbs, and works as a guide for several different wilderness programs. Sometimes she does all of this at 10,000 feet above sea level. She’s got a ridiculous puppy named Hank that she’s training as a therapy dog. She’s in school for nursing. All of that stuff is what motivates Rosa and gives her joy, and all of it is still completely possible for her (she’s already got her eye on the Paralympics, not kidding), but she’ll need a lot of support to get there.
My family just started a fundraising website here. Any amount you could donate would be a huge help, and if you can’t donate money — believe you me, I understand being broke as a joke — I’d be so grateful if you’d give this post a reblog. Rosa and her girlfriend are reaching out to their network of people who also dig living at high altitudes; my stepdad’s got his academic peeps; my mom’s got her fellow social workers and therapists. I have you guys. <3
Thank you so much,
Z
(Source: elafant)
Red-Haired Girl at Her Toilet - Frederik Hendrik Kaemmerer
19th century
