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Today is National Remind Your Fellow White Feminists That the 19th Amendment Only Gave White Women the Right to Vote Day

(via crotchetybushtit)

cool-critters:

Candy crab (Hoplophrys oatesi)

The candy crab is a very colourful crab that grows from 1.5 to 2 cm. It lives on various species of soft coral in the Dendronephthya genus.

It camouflages itself by mimicing the colours of the polyps among which it hides. It adds further camouflage by attaching polyps to its carapace. Colours vary depending on the colour of the coral, and may be white, pink, yellow or red. This crab is widespread in the Indo-Pacific and it feeds on plankton.

photo credits: digimuse, Brian Maye, divemecressi

(via rhamphotheca)

blackafricanandbeautiful:

my richness is life - bob marley

(via myglassesarefoggy)

hoeirl:

Color Studies: Pink by Carissa Gallo

(via myglassesarefoggy)

this is the pleasant taste, convenience, and surprisingly delightful nutritional benefit of government-imposed death and destruction, corruption of nations by capitalist power, and years of oppression by occupants of the global north

i am eating a banana/this is the taste of human pain and suffering at the expense of the capitalist system

Orchid Mantis

(via katiacambia)

lostinurbanism:

Luis Marden, St. Lucia (1942)

(via myglassesarefoggy)

feelknower1993:

it’s so weird that learning about racism is totally a completely optional side quest for white people

(via myglassesarefoggy)

ichthyologist:

Fish Confetti

Nick Hobgood on Flickr

"I wanted to see where beauty comes from
without you in the world, hauling my heart
across sixty acres of northeast meadow,
my pockets filling with flowers.
Then I remembered,
it’s you I miss in the brightness
and body of every living name:
rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch.
You are the green wonder of June,
root and quasar, the thirst for salt.
When I finally understand that people fail
at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle,
the paper wings of the dragonfly
aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity?
If I get the story right, desire is continuous,
equatorial. There is still so much
I want to know: what you believe
can never be removed from us,
what you dreamed on Walnut Street
in the unanswerable dark of your childhood,
learning pleasure on your own.
Tell me our story: are we impetuous,
are we kind to each other, do we surrender
to what the mind cannot think past?
Where is the evidence I will learn
to be good at loving?
The black dog orbits the horseshoe pond
for treefrogs in their plangent emergencies.
There are violet hills,
there is the covenant of duskbirds.
The moon comes over the mountain
like a big peach, and I want to tell you
what I couldn’t say the night we rushed
North, how I love the seriousness of your fingers
and the way you go into yourself,
calling my half-name like a secret.
I stand between taproot and treespire.
Here is the compass rose
to help me live through this.
Here are twelve ways of knowing
what blooms even in the blindness
of such longing. Yellow oxeye,
viper’s bugloss with its set of pink arms
pleading do not forget me.
We hunger for eloquence.
We measure the isopleths.
I am visiting my life with reckless plenitude.
The air is fragrant with tiny strawberries.
Fireflies turn on their electric wills:
an effulgence. Let me come back
whole, let me remember how to touch you
before it is too late."

- Stacie Cassarino, Summer Solstice

(via heavymuffintop)