Society Magazine

Sunday Post

Posted on the 29 April 2013 by Itszappy @itszappy
"Me no study
Me no care
Me go marry
A millionare
If he die
Me no cry
Me go marry
Another guy"
---Lazy Girl Proverb. I run a woman's rights blog. I don't want to doooo anything right now. I need 400 words for every post. All I did was go to my grandparents house watch hannibal watch parks & rec play with my dog study for ap us this weekend. i got sunburned from being outside too long with the dog and maddie.  my mom made steak for dinner. life is good and i am stable.
never trust a dude with cheekbones like that im tellin yaEverytime they show food in Hannibal I wanna throw up because it makes me anxiety boost up like crazy like DON'T EAT THAT THAT IS PROBABLY A HUMAN BEING STOP STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING. this show is the scariest friggin' thing like just as scary and disturbing as silence of the lambs was but i can't stop it's so interesting and so pretty the lighting is soo good and the symbolism is excellent i don't know what's gonna happen next and HUGH DANCY IS SO FREAKING HOT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE'S BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE BUT I AM COMPLETE.hottie mc hot hot hottie
urghh when is game of thrones gon be on amazonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.
also im a disgusting human being bc i have 4040 likes on tumblr because i don thave my priorities straight my life is a joke im just fake it til i make it. right nkow i feel so so horrible :( I just want to go to bed. im gonna c and p something.
"… Why should we be a part
of any argument the stars have with infinity? Is there any end
to your theories, your histories of the heart? Is there
any way we can purely touch the world again, the way
a salamander does, breathing through its skin? Can we
become the strands of this shrine we weave ourselves into
hoping to emerge into a world where—where what?
There is no end to desire, which means no end to regret,
no end to our need for an ending, so that even the sky refuses
our touch, that sky which, at its bluest, is the most empty."
—Richard Jackson,
I was relieved there was nothing
there to get used to. Evenings,
I lit candles as though for guests
and danced with my own vanishing
as the prisms moved in the draft
my body made of the stillness.
—Claudia Emerson, 411

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