If I were just your average 23-year-old girl, and I called the police to say that there were strange men sleeping on my lawn and following me to Starbucks, they would leap into action. But because I am a famous person, well, sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing we can do. It makes no sense … I am just not OK with it. It’s as simple as that. I am just a normal girl and a human being, and I haven’t been in this long enough to feel like this is my new normal. I’m not going to find peace with it. 
If I were just your average 23-year-old girl, and I called the police to say that there were strange men sleeping on my lawn and following me to Starbucks, they would leap into action. But because I am a famous person, well, sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing we can do. It makes no sense … I am just not OK with it. It’s as simple as that. I am just a normal girl and a human being, and I haven’t been in this long enough to feel like this is my new normal. I’m not going to find peace with it. 

(Source: starkbrandons, via cruciatus-cursed)

strangersneedlovee:

madeupmonkeyshit:

leonardo dicaprio trunt up

best gif 

strangersneedlovee:

madeupmonkeyshit:

leonardo dicaprio trunt up

best gif 

(Source: puertoricanpocahontas, via ellemurr)

(Source: thechanelmuse, via vintagegal)

optimuspham:

i hope that someone, somewhere, sees this and is actually affected by it enough to make a change. this is terrible.

Unacceptable.

(via ellemurr)

humansofnewyork:

"I’m in a bit of an introspective mood, because one of Ireland’s greatest poets died today. His name was Seamus Heaney.""Do you have a favorite poem by him?"
 

Diggingby Seamus HeaneyBetween my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.Under my window, a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father, digging. I look downTill his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through potato drills Where he was digging.The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft Against the inside knee was levered firmly.He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deepTo scatter new potatoes that we picked,Loving their cool hardness in our hands.By God, the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man.My grandfather cut more turf in a dayThan any other man on Toner’s bog.Once I carried him milk in a bottleCorked sloppily with paper. He straightened upTo drink it, then fell to right awayNicking and slicing neatly, heaving sodsOver his shoulder, going down and downFor the good turf. Digging.The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slapOf soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edgeThrough living roots awaken in my head.But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.Between my finger and my thumbThe squat pen rests.I’ll dig with it.

humansofnewyork:

"I’m in a bit of an introspective mood, because one of Ireland’s greatest poets died today. His name was Seamus Heaney."
"Do you have a favorite poem by him?"

 

Digging
by Seamus Heaney

Between my finger and my thumb 
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound 
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: 
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds 
Bends low, comes up twenty years away 
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills 
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft 
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade. 
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.

(via ellemurr)

ximjustinlovex:

benedictscumberbatch:

“GIVE IT SEVEN YEARS AND HE’LL BE GIVING YOU JUST THAT.”

I tried to scroll past this. I really did.

(via ellemurr)

utabay:

nazeem38:

exxpensiveslang:

shroomyloomyland:

That awkward moment when you moonwalk into MJ


Fun Fact: That kid is actually Alfonso Ribeiro, AKA Carlton from Fresh Prince.

THIS WOULD ONLY HAPPEN TO CARLTON 

utabay:

nazeem38:

exxpensiveslang:

shroomyloomyland:

That awkward moment when you moonwalk into MJ

Fun Fact: That kid is actually Alfonso Ribeiro, AKA Carlton from Fresh Prince.

THIS WOULD ONLY HAPPEN TO CARLTON 

(Source: onlylolgifs, via ellemurr)

(Source: suprchnk, via cruciatus-cursed)