Spare Part Nostalgia

Lauren Yates
Poet. INFJ. Quiche whisperer. Leo.
23 / F / Philadelphia

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Epiphanies, Unnoticed
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huffelpoof:

colourfulpantsandarainbowhat:

WHY DO PEOPLE CALL IT FUCK, MARRY, KILL WHEN THEY COULD CALL IT BED, WED, BEHEAD

Or, as King Henry VIII likes to call it, a productive evening. 

(via alamour7)

lostateminor:

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Inflatable toy dinosaurs or ceramic sculptures?

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What’s hundreds of millions years old, looks like it’s filled with helium, and is an accident waiting to happen? These ceramic dinosaurs by artist Brett Kern, that’s what. You might mistake these sculptures for one of those inflatable vinyl balloon dinosaurs, but upon closer inspection, they’re actually ceramic works that mimic the details and texture of a balloon.

Kern recalls the inspiration for these cute pieces on his website, “’Something has survived,’ reads the tagline for the 1997 movie, Jurassic Park: The Lost World. Undeniably, something has survived: the infatuation I have with the pop culture of my formative years, during the late eighties and the nineties. It is through these ‘cultural glasses’ that I continue to view and interpret the world, which influences the subject matter and purpose of my work. My predilection for producing collectible objects comes from my training as a potter and my persistent preoccupation with collecting toys, pop memorabilia, and nostalgic items from my youth.”

These collectibles would look great on any home, just make sure there’s a sign nearby that says: “DO NOT TOUCH THE BALLOON-LOOKING FRAGILE $500 DINOSAUR.”

trashylittlefuck:

women are considered fragile but I’ve never seen anything as easily wounded as a man’s ego

(via takemeawyy)

nichelavideoart:

LED artist Bill FitzGibbons illuminates this old railroad underpass in Birmingham, Alabama and transforms into an extraordinary public walking path.  

(via acrylicalchemy)

joshtheword:

This is what happens when Bobby McFerrin’s son meets Hiatus Kaiyote. Literally.

common-grind:

Karyn Washington

I am sad to only be learning of this tremendous activist for women of color after reading memorials celebrating her advocacy, but I can do my part in spreading awareness of her struggles—the one she fought on the outside and the one she fought within herself. Karyn Washington, who founded the website For Brown Girls and leader of the #DarkSkinRedLip project, reportedly took her own life at the young age of 22. 

Victoria Uwumarogie of Madame Noire describes Washington’s contribution to conversation on women’s portrayal in hip hop:

The young woman launched her website in order to celebrate the beauty of black women who don’t always feel the love out here, and pushed the project #DarkSkinRedLip to encourage black women of all shades to embrace wearing red lipstick after rapper A$AP Rocky said that women of darker complexions shouldn’t rock it. That project, like For Brown Girls, was about empowering. That’s what Washington was all about.

Christelyn Karazin of Beyond Black & White explains that Washington’s suicide should remind us to be willing to accept and pursue help in the face of mental health issues:

Let’s honor Karyn’s memory and continue the work that she started, and take it a step farther. Let’s not just tell black girls and women they are beautiful and worthy. Let’s also tell them that it’s okay to fall back, seek help, and heal.

Rest in Peace, Karyn. 

- Anupam

(via oreides)

incandescency:

I keep trying to tell myself that I’m over you. I’ll mask my feelings with a smile and tell others that I’ve moved on. But what they don’t know - what you don’t know - is that I’m sitting here in a state of confusion and frustration because now matter how hard I try, I can’t bring my thoughts together to sum up how I actually feel for you. I keep searching for cover at night, a message or missed call to come up on my phone, any signal of you wanting me back. I often wake up during the early hours of the morning and the first thing on my mind is your beautiful face. There’s no way I can run from you. I was so convinced that I didn’t need you anymore but I guess I was wrong. I see you in my sleep. I see you in the people I’m around. I hear your voice in the words “I love you.” Every nerve could be damaged in my body but somehow, I’d still be able to feel you. You seem to have taken permanent residence in the deepest corners of my mind, making your home in the shaky foundations of my heart. You’ve left me dangling on a thread of false hope. You tell me you still have feelings for me but you’re not ready. You tell me you’ll call me, and even though I’ve told you many times that you’re not obligated to, you said I was your favourite person to talk to. But, my dear, it’s been weeks. It’s come to the point where I don’t even know what I want anymore or what I’m waiting for any longer. We have become alien. We are merely two souls on this planet that push people away. We are both needy people and I guess that’s why we never worked out in the end. But one thing I’m sure I gave you all of was my fucking heart. I let you break it like glass and now the shards are all over the ground for more and more people to tread over. I gave you all of it and got nothing back. I don’t understand how that concept is not keeping me away from you. I’m addicted to you and the sadness you give me. The funny thing is, if I had another heart, I’d let you break that too. I used to think that you’d look at me like I was the only person in the room, the only star in your sky and the only flower in your garden.
Now I know I’m just another face of 7 billion others, a dying star in your galaxy and a wilting dandelion in a field of wildflowers.
Please, please, please come back to me.

A.V.

(via ofalliam)