Jesus was a homeless Palestinian anarchist who held protests at oppressive churches, advocated for universal health care and redistribution of wealth, before being arrested for terrorism, tortured and executed for crimes against the state, now go ahead and…
Did you know these are the same dancers from the Chimney scene in Mary Poppins!?!
Still defining epic, after all these years.
this makes me so happy every time i see this
“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — forever.”1984 by George Orwell
Mariel Clayton is an artist who describes herself as a ‘Doll Photographer with a subversive sense of humour’. Using Barbie dolls and Japanese miniatures as her primary medium and subject, she creates dioramic images full of detail and black humour as a means of commentating on contemporary society and it’s stereotypes. Inspired by current events, pop culture, music and even paper, her images are meant to be at the same time meaningful and meaningless, to be used as a conduit for interpretation by the viewer. She maintains that it is the viewers response and the thought process that leads to it which are the most important. At the very least, it is nothing more than an excuse for a good laugh [x]
murder house barbies
THE GUY BEING A SPIDER IN THE BACK THOUGH
This is at least the third time I’ve reblogged this and I’m not sorry
Phillis Wheatley was the first published African-American author and the original poet laureate of black letters. Thanks to generations of great scholarship, we know more about Wheatley’s magical muse than ever before, especially her ability to distill the hopes and horrors of the black experience in lines of verse that dance off the page. (And English was not even her first language!) But what if we read Wheatley as part of America’s information revolution?
do you remember the first time you were called annoying?
how your breath stopped short in your chest
the way the light drained from your eyes, though you knew your cheeks were ablaze
the way your throat tightened as you tried to form an argument that got lost on your tongue.
your eyes never left the floor that day.
you were 13.
you’re 20 now, and i still see the light fade from your eyes when you talk about your interests for “too long,”
apologies littering every other sentence,
words trailing off a cliff you haven’t jumped from in 7 years.
i could listen to you forever, though i know speaking for more than 3 uninterrupted minutes makes you anxious.
all i want you to know is that you deserve to be heard
for 3 minutes
for 10 minutes
for 2 hours
there will be people who cannot handle your grace, your beauty, your wisdom, your heart;
mostly because they can’t handle their own.
but you will never be
and have never been
this is literally damn perfect