All Hail Queen Helena

frosted-lemoncoward: Lucie, Too | Now, Now “The math doesn’t...

Wed, 15 May 2013 13:16:00 -0400

Lucie, Too | Now, Now

“The math doesn’t add up or match with the language of
Books that I’ve read or things that you said.
I’ll leave this with the darker night, I carried you inside
And know that it will find me in time.”

loveyourchaos: Linger /// The Cranberries

Tue, 14 May 2013 23:35:46 -0400

loveyourchaos:

Linger /// The Cranberries

always-at-page394: “That sword is meant to be in my vault at...

Tue, 14 May 2013 21:42:27 -0400

always-at-page394:

“That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts, how did you get it? Did you and your friends take it from my vault?”

how quickly do things come and goto be one moment in your armsand the next begging you not to goto...

Mon, 13 May 2013 00:57:01 -0400

how quickly do things come and go
to be one moment in your arms
and the next begging you not to go
to feel your embrace, your kiss
and then your wrath.

cumuluscloud: a-black-car-pulled-up-and: every black crayon...

Sun, 12 May 2013 23:12:40 -0400

cumuluscloud:

a-black-car-pulled-up-and:

every black crayon should be named void of existential anguish black

50 shades of moral ambiguity gray

Photo

Sat, 11 May 2013 16:30:37 -0400

"You can’t fix the fact that I love you."

Thu, 09 May 2013 02:10:14 -0400

“You can’t fix the fact that I love you.”

- #scandal #somanyfeels

Helena Bonham Carter behind the scenes at Harper’s Bazaar.

Wed, 08 May 2013 19:45:17 -0400

Helena Bonham Carter behind the scenes at Harper’s Bazaar.

bulgarian-elf-faery: Twit~Twoo!!!

Wed, 08 May 2013 16:30:43 -0400

bulgarian-elf-faery:

Twit~Twoo!!!

8bitbowtie: I was so nervous talking to a man that I have...

Wed, 08 May 2013 13:15:17 -0400

8bitbowtie:

I was so nervous talking to a man that I have admired for twelve years of my life. The man who let me know as a child that miserable things happen and that’s perfectly normal. The same man who helped me overcome my fear of reading after being screamed at by my teacher that I would never be able to read anything my grade level, only to have a college level reading skill by the end of sixth grade. My motivation to write and keep doing whatever I want because no matter who tries to bring me down, I know that I can overcome it just like I did those years ago.

I blushed and stuttered, barely getting out a ‘this may sound dorky, but thank you for everything you’ve done for me’. I hadn’t told him the tragedies that had gone on in my life in specifics. I thanked him for giving me a chance when so many adults did not and how I found it ironic that I still love a series about miserable children when I practically went through the same thing. And even though I’ve heard ‘I’m sorry’ so many times about every death, every terrible thing that has happened, I have never heard one so sincere.

Here I was beating myself up about failing to convey myself in front of this wonderful man. How I missed my chance. Putting my things away, I grabbed my book and peeked inside to see this. And I began to cry.

This is a man who I have never met before. A man I have only dreamt of meeting since I was very small. But yet in one small sentence he has managed to move me entirely. A sentence that has needed to be said for a long time now.

‘To Bridget, who has suffered enough.’

helena-bonham-potter: “What do you feel?” “Nothing.”

Wed, 08 May 2013 11:54:42 -0400

helena-bonham-potter:

“What do you feel?”

“Nothing.”

i’m still crying, and i imagine i will be for a while longer. but i have red wine and earl...

Wed, 08 May 2013 03:27:13 -0400

i’m still crying, and i imagine i will be for a while longer. but i have red wine and earl grey, and the shortest email to confirm that no love is ever wasted, and true love never really dies. it may change forms, but it never, ever dies. and there is rain. and i guess, for now, that is enough.

and as though the universe could feel my tears and taste my red wine, it started pouring as...

Wed, 08 May 2013 03:01:06 -0400

and as though the universe could feel my tears and taste my red wine, it started pouring as “Heart and Soul” filled the air.

"I love, because my love is not dependent on the object of love. My love is dependent on my state of..."

Wed, 08 May 2013 02:43:10 -0400

“I love, because my love is not dependent on the object of love. My love is dependent on my state of being. So whether the other person changes, becomes different, friend turns into a foe, does not matter, because my love was never dependent on the other person. My love is my state of being. I simply love.”

- Osho (via loveyourchaos)

bonhamcartered: Helena Bonham Carter - Live From Baghdad...

Tue, 07 May 2013 16:30:38 -0400

bonhamcartered:

Helena Bonham Carter - Live From Baghdad photocall

"There’s nothing in the world that loves you more than the space you already take up. There’s nothing..."

Tue, 07 May 2013 13:15:51 -0400

“There’s nothing in the world that loves you
more than the space you already take up.
There’s nothing in the world that won’t
forget you faster than you forgot
the last person that stepped out from your life.
When the cat reaches up
one needled paw to drag down a book
from your desk, then another,
that’s not love—that’s dominance.
When you reach up your hand and try to wheedle
someone else’s to hold it, that’s love
dominating you. There’s no word for loving more
than you should, just the feeling of excess,
as if your tongue burst in a rash of red sequins,
as if everyone can see your stutter in the air,
staccato love you, love you, and nothing in the world
standing in that space to receive it.”

- “Love Poem for What It Is,” Rebecca Hazelton (via commovente)

come back to me. forgive me. i love you.

Tue, 07 May 2013 02:10:52 -0400

come back to me.

forgive me.

i love you.

and one really ought to be quite careful with that.

Mon, 06 May 2013 19:45:33 -0400

and one really ought to be quite careful with that.

"It is sometimes said, though less often now than it used to be, that philosophers have no special..."

Mon, 06 May 2013 17:37:01 -0400

“It is sometimes said, though less often now than it used to be, that philosophers have no special role to play in public affairs, since most public issues depend primarily on an assessment of facts. On questions of fact, it is said, philosophers as such have no special expertise, and so it has been possible to engage in philosophy without committing oneself to any position on major public issues. No doubt there are some issues of social policy and foreign policy about which it can truly be said that a really expert assessment of the facts is required before taking sides or acting, but the issue of famine is surely not one of these. The facts about the existence of suffering are beyond dispute. Nor, I think, is it disputed that we can do something about it, either through orthodox methods of famine relief or through population control or both. This is therefore an issue on which philosophers are competent to take a position. The issue is one which faces everyone who has more money than he needs to support himself and his dependents, pr who is in a position to take some sort of political action.”

- Peter Singer, “Famine, Affluence and Morality”

"After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity..."

Mon, 06 May 2013 16:30:28 -0400

“

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

”

- Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via finedineonmyvegangenitalia)