December 2009
53 posts
If you're from Puerto Rico, reblog.
misslora: (via 1492) Hell to the => YEAH!
Dec 30th
Dec 30th
3 notes
Michelle White- Illustrator  →
Dec 30th
Dec 30th
1 note
Dec 30th
Dec 30th
Dec 30th
Dec 30th
Dec 30th
Dec 27th
Dec 27th
Dec 26th
Dec 26th
Dec 26th
Bold all things you've done in '09
1. Dyed your hair an odd color. 2. Went skinny dipping. 3. Bought something you didn’t need. 4. Snuck out of your house. 5. Became obsessed with a song no one knew. 6. Learned a song on your phone with your keypad. 7. Knitted something. 8. Ran a mile. 9. Fell in love. 10. Said, “like yeahh” too many times. 11. Lost your closest friends. 12. Got into a fight with someone you loved. 13....
Dec 26th
5 tags
Dec 24th
2 notes
Dec 24th
1 note
Dec 18th
111 notes
Dec 18th
Dec 18th
“We artists are indistructible, even in a prison cell or a concentration camp I...”
– Pablo Picasso
Dec 16th
Dec 16th
Dec 16th
1 note
Dec 16th
Dec 15th
Dec 15th
Dec 14th
Dec 14th
Dec 14th
8 notes
“Can a selfish egocentric jealous and unimaginative female write a damn thing...”
– Sylvia Plath
Dec 13th
“Is there no way out of the mind?”
– Sylvia Plath
Dec 13th
Dec 13th
“I love people who make me laugh. I honestly think it’s the thing I like...”
– Audrey Hepburn
Dec 13th
Dec 13th
Dec 13th
Dec 13th
Dec 13th
Dec 13th
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you...”
– Mark Twain
Dec 13th
Ode to Home by Ana S. Ferrer
The best I’ve ever had is my dad’s brew. At thirteen, I sold my soul to it. After Mr. Coffee brewed the Alto Grande, I took my father’s cup and drank it whole. “Mira muchachita!” he yelled through his damp mustache. I just smiled and giggled while the mustached figure let me drink. From that day on, A cup of coffee waits for me as I wake. I look out my kitchen window: flamboyán red poisons the ...
Dec 10th
“It’s been a hard day’s night, and I’ve been working like a dog...”
– The Beatles
Dec 10th
The Drought by Gary Soto
The clouds shouldered a path up the mountains East of Ocampo, and then descended, Scraping their bellies gray on the cracked shingles of slate. They entered the valley, and passed the roads that went Trackless, the houses blown open, their cellars creaking And lined with the bottles that held their breath for years. They passed the fields where the trees dried thin as hat rack And the...
Dec 9th
Dec 9th
Dec 9th
Dec 9th
Dec 9th
Dec 9th
Dec 9th
1 note
Dec 9th
Dec 9th