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I'm 20, I live in London, I fail at being a vegetarian but succeed at being a struggling writer and I am also a fan of all things nerdy, beautiful and inspiring.

1 hour ago | 163,269 notes
yesyourhighhhness: nosdrinker: this is my favorite picture on the internet Besties
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slantededge: at my future wedding and funeral service
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laughingisbetter:
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awakenedvibrations: The sea provides a healing magic that goes beyond drugs and prescriptions. It forces us to become involved with it. The ocean draws on the strength of plants from the Earth, the water that is a part of all life and the mineral salts from which our bodies are created.
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shouldertappingghosts:

If I was a famous author I would publish a book with ten different endings which all went to print with varying degrees of rarity, but not tell the fans about it so that I could watch their confusion as they disagree over how the story ended. Then when they figured it out I would ‘come clean’, telling them that I had released eleven alternate endings and watch them panic again as they all try to find the last ending.

(via that-hotwhitegirl)

1 day ago | 47,076 notes
baabyv: anewstartt: When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet. Cranky Old ManWhat do you see nurses? What do you see?What are you thinking when you’re looking at me?A cranky old man, not very wise,Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?Who dribbles his food and makes no reply.When you say in a loud voice, ‘I do wish you’d try!’Who seems not to notice the things that you do.And forever is losing a sock or shoe?Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill?Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?Then open your eyes, nurse. You’re not looking at me.I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.I’m a small child of ten, with a father and mother,Brothers and sisters who love one anotherA young boy of sixteen with wings on his feetDreaming that soon now  a lover he’ll meet.A groom soon at twenty my heart gives a leap.Remembering, the vows that I promised to keep.At twenty-five, now I have young of my own.Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.A man of thirty, my young now grown fast,Bound to each other with ties that should last.At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,But my woman is beside me to see I don’t mourn.At fifty, once more, babies play ‘round my knee,Again, we know children, my loved one and me.Dark days are upon me. My wife is now dead.I look at the future. I shudder with dread.For my young are all rearing young of their own.And I think of the years, and the love that I’ve known.I’m now an old man and nature is cruel.It’s jest to make old age look like a fool.The body, it crumbles. Grace and vigour, depart.There is now a stone where I once had a heart.But inside this old carcass, A young man still dwells,And now and again my battered heart swells.I remember the joys, I remember the pain.And I’m loving and living life over again.I think of the years, all too few, gone too fast.And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.So open your eyes, people. Open and see.Not a cranky old man.Look closer .. See.. Me. Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all one day be there too! :’(
1 day ago | 11,843 notes
gynocraticgrrl: searchingforknowledge: Fifteen rape victims have formed martial arts movement and are prepared to confront abusers if no one listens to their complaints… A GROUP of women are fighting back against the sickening culture of rape which they say infects India. Fifteen determined females – all victims themselves – have trained in martial arts and are prepared to hand out rough justice if no one listens to their complaints. And the movement, called the Red Brigade, is growing rapidly following the gang rape and murder of medical student Jyoti Singh Pandey that horrified the world. In a nation where a woman is reportedly raped every 20 minutes, the group’s leader Usha Vishwakarma said: “We are fighting back – and the boot is now on the other foot.” Member Sufia Hashmi, 17, said: “We’ve caught a lot of men recently. I joined because men always used to pass comments on me and touch my body but now we beat them and they run.” Like the other members in the northern city of Lucknow, 25-year-old Usha has first-hand experience of the daily dangers women face in the huge nation – a teacher tried to rape her when she was 18. She said: “He grabbed me and tried to open my trousers. I kicked him in the crotch and ran.” Usha complained to staff but they told her to forget it and allowed her attacker to carry on teaching. She said: “Many parents tell girls to quit school so there will be no sexual violence. But we said no – this has to stop. We decided to form a group to fight for ourselves, not just complain.” MORE The Red Brigade is up there with badass all female groups like the Ukrainian Asgarda and India’s Gulabi Gang.
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manda: hahahaha this will be me