“Are we our bodies? Is a small person less than a big person, then? If we were our bodies, then when we lost an arm, or a leg, would we be less, would we begin to fade from existence? No. We are the same person.

We are not our bodies; we are our thoughts. As they form, they define who we are, and create the reality of our existence.”


C.a.t.h.e.r.i.n.e:
Seemingly happy. Impossibly deep. Forever herself.


My tumblr is one that makes people:
~Smile
~Get inspired
~Think a little deeper
~See Art as I see it

Enjoy.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

"classical music is boring"

sockmonkeyrenegade:

groucho-marxism:

Stravinsky’s rite of spring is about a girl who dances herself to death to appease the Russian god of spring.

When it premiered the crowd got so amped up they opened up a mosh pit in the theater and the night would be forever known as the “riot of spring”

There’s a piece in the bassoon repertoire called “Dead Elvis” and when you buy the music you have to contractually agree to only perform the piece in a full Elvis costume.

image

Thursday, April 3, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
fightblr:

building-an-unstoppable-fist:

secretworld-observer:

kellyfromthecity:

The next person who makes a joke about my pole dancing and calls me a stripper, I’m going to show them this photo and say, “You may or may not take me seriously, but just know that I can probably crush your tiny little skull with my thigh muscles.”

There’s nothing I don’t love about this.

bruh

HOLY SHIT!!!

fightblr:

building-an-unstoppable-fist:

secretworld-observer:

kellyfromthecity:

The next person who makes a joke about my pole dancing and calls me a stripper, I’m going to show them this photo and say, “You may or may not take me seriously, but just know that I can probably crush your tiny little skull with my thigh muscles.”

There’s nothing I don’t love about this.

bruh

HOLY SHIT!!!

freebatchisthenewjohnlock:

papaoftheyear:

Hilarious practical joke

u kno he dead

freebatchisthenewjohnlock:

papaoftheyear:

Hilarious practical joke

u kno he dead

Saturday, March 29, 2014
"

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is eight years old, she’s got pink cheeks that her grandmother calls chubby. She wants a second cookie but her aunt says “you’ll get huge if you keep eating.” She wants a dress and the woman in the changing room says “she’ll probably need a large in that.” She wants to have dessert and her waiter says “After all that dinner you just had? You must be really hungry!” and her parents laugh.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is eleven and she is picked second-to-last in gym class. She watches a cartoon and sees that everyone who is annoying is drawn with a big wide body, all sweaty and panting. At night she dreams she is swelling like the ocean over seabeds. When she wakes up, she skips school.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is thirteen and her friends are stick-thin ballerinas with valleys between their hipbones. She is instead developing the wide curves of her mother. She says she is thick but her friends argue that she’s “muscular” and for some reason this hurts worse than just admitting that she jiggles when she walks and she’ll never be a dancer. Eating seconds of anything feels like she’s breaking some unspoken rule. The word “indulgent” starts to go along with “food.”

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is fourteen and she has stopped drinking soda and juice because they bloat you. She always takes the stairs. She fidgets when she has to sit still. Whenever she goes out for ice cream, she leaves half at the bottom - but someone else always leaves more and she feels like she’s falling. She pretends to like salad more than she does. She feels eyes burrowing through her body while she eats lunch. Kate Moss tells her nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she just feels like she is wilting.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is fifteen the first time her father says “you’re getting gaunt.” She rolls her eyes. She eats one meal a day but thinks she stays the same size. Every time she picks up a brownie she thinks of the people she sees on t.v. and every time she has cake, she thinks of the one million magazine articles on restricting calories. She used to have no idea a flat stomach was supposed to be beautiful until she saw advice on how to achieve it. She cuts back on everything. She controls. They tell her she’s getting too thin but she doesn’t believe it.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is sixteen and tearing herself into shreds in order for a thigh gap big enough to hush the screams in her head. She doesn’t “indulge,” ever. She can’t go out with friends, they expect her to eat. She damns her sweet tooth directly to hell. It’s coffee for breakfast and tea for lunch and if there’s dance that evening, two cups of water and then maybe an apple. She lies all the time until she thinks the words will rot her teeth. She dreams about food when she sleeps. Her aunt begs her to eat anything, even just a small cookie. They say, “One bite won’t make you fat, will it, darling?”

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is seventeen and too sick to go to prom because she can’t stand up for very long. She thinks she wouldn’t look good in a dress anyway. Her nails are blue and not because they are painted. Her hair is too thin to do anything with. She’s tired all the time and always distracted. She once absently mentions the caloric value of grapes to the boy she is with and he looks at her like she’s gone insane and in that moment she realizes most people don’t have numbers constantly scrolling in their heads. She swallows hard and tries to figure out where it all went wrong, why more than a granola bar for a meal makes her feel sick, why she tastes disease and courts with death. She misses sleep. She misses being able to dream. She misses being herself instead of just being empty.

A FAT LITTLE GIRL
is twenty and writes poetry and is a healthy weight and still fights down the voices every single day. She puts food in her mouth and sometimes cries about it but more and more often feels good, feels balanced. Her cheeks are pink and they are chubby and soft and no longer growing slight fur. Her hair is long and it is beautiful. She still picks herself apart in the mirror, but she’s starting to get better about it. She wears the dress she likes even if it only fits her in a large and she doesn’t feel like a failure for it. She is falling in love with the fat on her hips.

She is eating out with friends and not worrying about finding the lowest calorie item on the menu when she hears a mother tell her four year old daughter “You can’t have ice cream, we just had dinner.
You don’t want to end up as a fat little girl.”

"

Why do we constantly do this to our children? /// r.i.d (via inkskinned)

image

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

starline:

nogoodturkey:

draw a shitty comic about your feels and post it on the internet

Oh hey! GPOY. 

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