Nico.
26.
Co-Owner of Skull Dezign Clothing.
Brain Vomit.

 

So if Easter actually began as the celebration of sex and fertility and tomorrow is 4/20, doesn’t that make tomorrow the best day ever?

Have more than you show, Speak less than you know.

William Shakespeare, King Lear: Act 1, Scene 4  (via perfect)

(Source: yimmyayo)

doobz-n-boobz:

just-another-drug-blog:

dr-fantabulous:

thudd-nelson:

This is actually very beautiful- I should remember this.

Oh, hello self esteem. It seems I found you again.

Everyone should take the time to look at, read, and think about this

If there is one thing that everybody should really read and take into consideration, it’s this.

(Source: arswiss)

resized:

youre-bey0nd-beautiful:

angrymuslimah:

"Gulabi Gang" is a gang of women in India who track down and beat abusive husbands with brooms.

this is too thug not to reblog

That’s not all they do - they’ve got more information on their website. 
What else they do that is awesome:
Stop child marriages
Persuade families to educate girl-child
Train women in self-defense
Oppose corruption in administration
Create awareness about the evils of dowry
Register FIRs against sex-offenders and abusive husbands
Publicly shame molesters
Encourage women to become financially independent
Yesssssssss. Female empowerment is a wonderful thing. 

Omg yes

resized:

youre-bey0nd-beautiful:

angrymuslimah:

"Gulabi Gang" is a gang of women in India who track down and beat abusive husbands with brooms.

this is too thug not to reblog

That’s not all they do - they’ve got more information on their website

What else they do that is awesome:

  • Stop child marriages
  • Persuade families to educate girl-child
  • Train women in self-defense
  • Oppose corruption in administration
  • Create awareness about the evils of dowry
  • Register FIRs against sex-offenders and abusive husbands
  • Publicly shame molesters
  • Encourage women to become financially independent

Yesssssssss. Female empowerment is a wonderful thing. 

Omg yes

When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”

When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.

When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”

(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)

When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.

I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.

No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.

I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.

So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:

In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.

r.d. (via elferinge)

anogoodrabblerouser:

The odds of being attacked by a shark in the US are 1 in 11,500,000, but no one gets mad at people who want to avoid the ocean.

The odds of a woman being sexually assaulted in her lifetime are 1 in 6, but if she doesn’t feel safe around strange men she’s a stereotyping bitch.

Strange old world we live in.

Aleister just asked me to read this to him. ♥ #aleister #momlife #anarchy

Aleister just asked me to read this to him. ♥ #aleister #momlife #anarchy