#howtonotgiveaFUCK: How do you start not giving a fuck? -
- Don’t ignore the problems you face. Rather, come to terms with them.
- Realize your insignificance amidst the rest of the universe – It is the epitome of narcissism to think that our individual actions have any consequence in a universe where the…
(Source: solarsemen, via fib)
I went to get my hair cut today. It was one of those rockabilly places that seem to be gaining traction as of late. 50’s ephemera on the walls, nods to greasers and Elvis, pomade for sale at the counter. A nice mousey girl with neck tattoos offered me a free PBR while I waited for my barber.
I was about to work up the courage to ask for a second can of beer when he approached me. His name was David. He had buzzed sides and a sweet, swollen pompadour that I almost rudely stared at, a big frozen tidal wave the color of dark coffee. He shook my hand and led me to the chair, where I instructed him to do “whatever looks good - just no buzzer”. My hairdresser friend once said that buzzers were plebian.
At first, I thought maybe David had the hiccups. His fingers smelled like camel lights and as he parted and cut little swatches of my hair, his whole body would lurch intermittently. The scissors snipped away steadily though, with nary an interruption while the armature behind them seemed to bear the force of an invisible shove every few seconds. I was amazed that he managed to keep his fingers still, suspended at the same height and distance while everything behind his elbows shifted and hopped. I thought of that youtube video with the chicken keeping it’s head floating in perfect stasis while a goggled farmer moved it’s body around on all axes. No, I thought … this couldn’t be the hiccups, no one handled the hiccups this way. The guy could be defusing a bomb.
I decided that I was on David’s team. I didn’t know him well, or even his condition (tic or hiccups? ticcups?), I didn’t even know if I was going to like the haircut, but I decided then that I had his back. A little monologue started to sound off in my head, rooted in solidarity and compassion. I knew what it was like to be a freelancer, people talking shit about you, people doubting you, not being perfect but trying your best. Me and David, we were the same. We were homies.
It was when the straight razor came out that I momentarily doubted my confidence and resolve in David. He slathered my neck in warm shaving cream, which did temporarily mitigate my anxiety, but when the blade touched my skin I found my breath quickening and my butthole contracting. This could be the end. Thirty two years old, never been to India or had a proper threesome, dead at the hands of a hipster Greenpoint barber with a tic, the proud taste of solidarity quickly turning to niavete in my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the only evidence of his tic of death was the muted thump in his breathing. He scraped the last swath of soap and hair off by neck, easily, wiped it down, and patted powder on the skin.
I sincerely thank God for my friends, and my dog.
oh hi there, galactic core. it’s been awhile.
Those who say the Black Widow’s fighting style is just movie bullshit can see the above. ^ Shit is terrifyingly real.
I think I’m in love.
She’s so tiny.
But she could kill me.
In Honor of International Women’s Day. Ya’ll can have your awesome starletts and actresses. I’ll take this kick woman any day.
In Honor of International Women’s Day.
(Source: zkarl, via unia)
Goddess of Earth by Ry-Spirit
(Source: fuckyeablackart, via thecrazykat)
creature in field with gem.
ink pen and color dye marker on paper
i usually hate these things, but this one does it.