Who needs life when there's theater?

Why is love so easy to give and so hard to receive?

Sometimes I write.
poetry
and
Fanfiction

poopflow:

a sex position called the gatsby where you stare longingly at your partner from a distance and scream old sport when you climax

(via rachelnoelberry)

my diet consists of

  • my feelings

bonesmakenoise:

theweepingtimelord:

Lembas Bread (Lord of the Rings “authentic” Elvish bread)

Ingredients: 

 2 ½ cups of flour
1 tablespoon of baking powder
¼ teaspoon of salt
½ cup of butter
1/3 cup of brown sugar
1 teaspoon of cinnamon
½ teaspoon honey
2/3 cup of heavy whipping cream
½ teaspoon of vanilla

Directions:

Preheat oven to 425F. Mix the flour, baking powder and salt into a large bowl. Add the butter and mix with a well till fine granules (easiest way is with an electric mixer). Then add the sugar and cinnamon, and mix them thoroughly.

Finally add the cream, honey, and vanilla and stir them in with a fork until a nice, thick dough forms.

Roll the dough out about 1/2 in thickness. Cut out 3-inch squares and transfer the dough to a cookie sheet.Criss-cross each square from corner-to-corner with a knife, lightly (not cutting through the dough).

Bake for about 12 minutes or more (depending on the thickness of the bread) until it is set and lightly golden.

***Let cool completely before eating, this bread tastes better room temperature and dry. Also for more flavor you can add more cinnamon or other spices***

as someone who has baked these A LOT

They are REALLY GOOD

and I am reblogging this because I KEEP LOSING MY RECIPE 

(via letthejherniebegin)

what doesn’t kill you
leaves scars
ruins your lungs
dries out all your tears
leaves you lying awake at 4 in the morning
wishing you weren’t alive

—c.c.   (via wizlaqueefa)

(via colieolie)

Marin Mazzie & Jason Danieley

—At The Beginning

youregonnalovetomorrow:

Marin Mazzie & Jason Danieley sing “At The Beginning” from Anastasia.

ughhhhhhhhhhh

(via patman828)

They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.

—Banksy (via serenebranson)

(Source: sirmitchell, via cagedbirds)

greattgatsby: There is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it. And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.

greattgatsby:

There is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.

In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.

The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.

You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.

(Source: thegodmolecule, via donpardosaymyname)

chemicaldarkshine: hardestcopy: bijou1986: A Mom went to have dinner with her son who lives with his roommate.During the course of the meal, his mother couldn’t help but notice how handsome his roommate was. She had been suspicious about her sons sexuality but being a good mother she felt that he would let her know if and when the time was right but seeing the two together just made her more curious.Over the course of the evening, while watching the interaction between the two she wondered even more if there was more here than meets the eye. Her son, sensing his mothers watchfully eye volunteered, “really Mom, I can tell what you’re thinking and you can just get it out of your mind, we are just roommates and nothing more”.About a week later the roommate remarked, “ever since your mother was here the silver serving platter has been missing, do you think she took it?”He responded, “Well I’m sure she didn’t but I will email her and ask just to be sure” he sat down and wrote:Hey MomI’m not saying you did take the silver platter from the house and I am not saying you didn’t take it but the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.Love,Your Son.A couple days later he got a response from his mother:Dear Son,I am not saying that you do sleep with your roommate and I am not saying that you don’t sleep with him and you know I love you and could care less either way but the fact remains that if he was sleeping in his own bed he would have found the platter under his pillow.When are the two of you coming for dinner?Love,Mom BEST MOM I’m crYING

chemicaldarkshine:

hardestcopy:

bijou1986:

A Mom went to have dinner with her son who lives with his roommate.
During the course of the meal, his mother couldn’t help but notice how handsome his roommate was. She had been suspicious about her sons sexuality but being a good mother she felt that he would let her know if and when the time was right but seeing the two together just made her more curious.

Over the course of the evening, while watching the interaction between the two she wondered even more if there was more here than meets the eye. Her son, sensing his mothers watchfully eye volunteered, “really Mom, I can tell what you’re thinking and you can just get it out of your mind, we are just roommates and nothing more”.

About a week later the roommate remarked, “ever since your mother was here the silver serving platter has been missing, do you think she took it?”

He responded, “Well I’m sure she didn’t but I will email her and ask just to be sure” he sat down and wrote:

Hey Mom
I’m not saying you did take the silver platter from the house and I am not saying you didn’t take it but the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.
Love,
Your Son.

A couple days later he got a response from his mother:

Dear Son,
I am not saying that you do sleep with your roommate and I am not saying that you don’t sleep with him and you know I love you and could care less either way but the fact remains that if he was sleeping in his own bed he would have found the platter under his pillow.
When are the two of you coming for dinner?
Love,
Mom

image

BEST MOM

I’m crYING

(via randomness-is-epic)