(Source: mcavoyster, via imjustapoorwayfaringstranger)
Learning French is a lot like joining a gang in that it involves a long and intensive period of hazing.
David Sedaris
So. You should be following my club’s blog on Tumblr. It’s a great way to keep up to date on current events.
heyheyclubforte.tumblr.com
join the creative activists.
ramblings of the indecisive journalist.: I didn't realize that some of the feather hair extensions are from emu and rooster tails.
Um excuse me, those feathers aren’t for you to wear.
Thousands of roosters and emus loose their lives because they are bred specifically for feather hair extentions. So by purchasing those feathers you are condoning cruelty.
Choose compassion. Purchase fake feathers. Do it for the animals.
<3
7 months ago - 
5
5 First clue into Snape’s past
hpfeltontvdpllwinchesterandstuff:
:””””””””””””””””(
Yah. I just witnessed my friend get arrested right in front of me for not paying train fair.
Fucking traumatized.
Ps …. Im the one who had to let her mother know that she was arrested.
It’s days like today that make me wish I was a good writer.
Or at least be able to think of something poetic except for “roses are red, violets are blue…”
“War is hell, but that’s not the half of it, because war is also a mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love. War is nasty; war is fun. War is thrilling; was is drudgery. War makes you a man; war makes you dead.
The truths are contradictory. It can be argued, for instance, that war is grotesque. But in truth war is also beauty. For all it’s horror, you can’t help but gape at the awful majesty of combat. You stare out at tracer rounds unwinding through the dark like brilliant red ribbons. You crouch in ambush as a cool, impassive moon rises other the nighttime paddies. You admire the fluid symmetries of troops on the move, the harmonies of sound and shape and proportion, the great sheets of metal-fire streaming down from a gunship, the illumination rounds, the white phosphorous, the purply orange glow of napalm, the rocket’s glare. It’s not pretty, exactly. It’s astonishing, It fills the eye. It commands you. You hate it, yes, but your eyes do not. Like a killer forest fire, like cancer under a microscope, any battle or bombing raid or artillery barrage has the aesthetic purity of absolute moral indifference - a powerful, implacable beauty - and a true war story will tell the truth about this, though the truth is ugly.”
- an excerpt from “The Things They Carried” By Tim O’Brien
Photos from Ireland
