(via strykerhal)

I love tumblr, honestly. It portrays humanity on multiple levels; mostly the desires, sometimes the wrong-doings, particularly the opinions. I see clothes, foods, animals, bodies, piercings, tattoo’s, home-wares, books, quotes, sex, drugs, musicians. I see people loving homosexuals and hating them too, I see people loving and hating multiple things. I come to tumblr to be like everyone else, to look at things I want and things I connect with in some way. But whenever I see these poor people who want to kill themselves, resorting to speaking to strangers to ease what ever is killing them inside, I find myself hating the world more and more. I hate how commercialism is everywhere, I hate the random relationships that build from nothing and return to nothing. I find everything meaningless and I hate that. To be honest I don’t really hate anything but myself, I’m aware I’m a perfectionist. My friends will tease me about being OCD, for being particular. I don’t think they fully understand how mentally fucking depressing it is. I need everything to be perfect but it never will be. My body will never be the exact shape, texture, colour I want it to be. And sure, society may have shown me ideas of perfection but I’ve developed one of my own and I can’t create it. It bugs me that I’m short sighted because I have to wear glasses that sit unevenly on my face. I can’t stand my nails because they’re never all the same shape and size. I’m so uneven and imperfect that I can’t even stand myself. The happiest day dreams I have are when I’m building a house perfectly in my head, or I’m perfecting myself finally. Everything needs to be perfect and yet I can never reach that. I’ve observed my own mentality and I hate it. Usually I would apologize for this, bitching to people about my own problems and my peeves but that’s another thing I hate about myself, my submissiveness. So I’m not sorry, and I know no one will read this, it’ll just be a relief to get this out of my head temporarily. 

fuckyeahtattoos:

Peacock!

Russell White, Low Tide Tattoos, Jessup, MD

(via insidey0u)

The Loneliest Whale in the World.

In 2004, The New York Times wrote an article about the loneliest whale in the world. Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem:

She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale. It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 52hz. You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her. Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored. And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by.

(via insidey0u)

So I’m really glad that my best friends remembered my birthday. One of them even got me a gift! But come today I’ve only received messages from my family. Not one single promised happy birthday spam on my Facebook from my bestie nor the said gift. Guess everyone needs Facebook to tell them it’s my birthday but excuse me for hoping they remember by themselves because they love me… Wow. Fucking hate today.

(via c0uples)

brain-food:

Vintage Superhero Wedding

Absolutely adorable, I love the wonder woman comics on the table especially. Everything about this is just brilliant, I adore DIY wedding creations. Especially superhero related ones! 

(via thebookworm)

rubeus-swagrid:

leemaliaa:

this-bed-is-on-fire:

mishalmoorebloggyblog:

As seen on Facebook. (posted by Homestead Survival)

A sweet lesson on patience. 

A NYC Taxi driver wrote:

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
box filled with photos and glassware.
‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’
‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive
through downtown?’
‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired.Let’s go now’.
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.
‘Nothing,’ I said
‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.
‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.
‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

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(via anditslove)

aseaofquotes:

Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo

(via strykerhal)