Our new favorite Instagram account (and its accompanying Tumblr), Texts From Your Existentialist, takes advantage of the absurdity of modern life by pairing modern art and film stills with text bubbles containing Nietzschean quips.
“tbh youre nice and we may not agree on everything but you seem really cool!” haha thats nice mary so what are we talking about here do we disagree on pineapple on pizza or police brutality
Like honestly, I’m going to be real with you, if I’m ever talking about race on here or I’m talking about being Black specifically and you come at me on some foolish shit, I will hurt your feelings.
You trying to derail me talking about issues that I deal with, or trying to speak over me by throwing in “all lives matter” is itself a form of hate and I will speak to you accordingly.
Aigoo you can’t be a nigga over 18 and try to court me when you have no domestic skills what type of nonsense is that? The fuck? Nigga I’m not your mother LMFAOOOOO
ladies please make sure your potential partners or soul mates or whatever will have the ability to do their share of housework. Shit like that is so important like I know yall don’t want your significant others not doing shit. Not cleaning. Not cooking. Not organizing that’s in bad taste honestly and this isn’t the Victorian era anymore.
If a nigga can’t pull his weight as a grown ass man and if he can’t do simple chores that require keeping a stable and comfortable environment for the both of yall then please drop him immediately. It’s disgusting. It’s childish. It’s pretty infantile.
all of us have been unlearning problematic things – it’s really malicious and in bad faith to purposefully dig up old posts by someone that do not reflect their current opinions and attack them over it out of context
and stop taking a tone of superiority as if you’ve never said problematic things before. none of us were born radical and well-educated.
so I’ve been in a relationship for 5 years now. And I see a lot of posts about how people think relationships mean having butterflies forever, your heart beating faster when they walk into a room, about cuddling together every night, legs intertwined, that you’d be so happy to live together you’d sleep on a double bed with each other every night.
And its not really like that, at least not to me.
You stop getting the butterflies when you live together. Your heart no longer speeds up when you see them, but instead, everything calms down. When youre in the room with them, you feel calm, and secure. When you cuddle them you feel your heart beat slow, and the sound of their breathing carry you towards comfort. It doesnt feel like a roller coaster anymore, it feels like home.
You don’t sleep curled up with each other every night, legs twisted between theirs so tight its hard to tell where yours begin and theirs end.
Instead, you sleep comfortably, side by side, sometimes facing different directions. But every night, you find yourself scooting backwards on the bed so you bump into them. You snuggle against their arm, or stroke their hair as they fall asleep. There are nights when my boyfriend, in his sleep, reaches around me and pulls me to him, like a child with his teddybear, like I am his comfort.
In the wee hours of the morning before the dawn breaks, when the world is blue and you see through cracked eyes, you curl into their chest and inhale their scent before drifting back to sleep.
Kisses aren’t always romantic and firey anymore. But there are so much more of them now. There are cold kisses when you’re eating ice cream in the summer, and sticky kisses over breakfast pancakes. There’s “im leaving now” kisses, and “one more kiss before you go” kisses. There’s sleepy morning kisses before work, when you don’t remember the alarm going off but instead the press of their lips against yours is what brings you into the day.
There’s kisses before sleep, and, you are so sweet with the things you do kisses. There’s kisses because you treat animals so tenderly, and I’m so glad i’m with you and not someone else kisses. There’s quick kisses in the aisles of the grocery store, when its loud and you gravitate together, when instead of having your own personal space and their own personal space, its both of yours together, and you step into their chest to take up less area together.
You don’t always text each other with confessions of love and care like you used to, because that’s a given now, and you’ve moved on to quirky inside jokes about the life youve built together. You share looks of exasperation and amusement in public, your own little world against the outside one.
Relationships aren’t always a fairy tale. They’re not always fireworks and sparks, at least, after the start.
But they are a quiet rhythm and hum of love and care. It’s not a fire in your soul, but one in your heart, keeping you warm and comfortable, comforting you as you drowsily drift into sleep.
your feminism should prioritise trans women. queer women. WOC. disabled women. poor women. intersex women. fat women. and all of the different ways those identities intersect. because throughout history they have never been a priority for anyone else
Who keep their baby hair laid & rock forces with velour suits
Who worship Badu and grow their own herbs
Who get their hair pressed & keep their nails fly
Who dress “alternative” & are obsessed with Daria
Who make twerk videos in public with their friends
Who don’t fit into any of these labels, or maybe into all of them.
I’m here for black girls living freely & doing whatever they please because that shit makes them happy. That’s a REAL carefree black girl, & I’m here for you.
