nice people are rare we must protect them at all costs
Her wit backfired and created one of the greatest awards show moments ever.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me.
"That wasn’t sex, that was naked poetry."
Hank Moody (via aestheticintrovert)
Deleted scene: Simon asks about demons
So many scenes I have never seen!
'City of Bones' Deleted Scene
More deleted scenes: the subway!
Amazing button sculptures by Miami based artist Augusto Esquivel. Absolutely stunning stuff!
"I remember a toilet bowl. Nothing else. Something, when I close my eyes, I can almost see a girl laughing, maybe the blurred image of six sleeping bags arranged in a circle, a stranger at a bus stop calling my name. Yet, just as everything comes into focus, and I smile as I realize I am watching something that once was familiar, a moment that could have been my life, it fades away. And I see it again: a shallow pool of blue water, the outlines of a fuzzy pink cover, white porcelain. I will repeat these images to myself: blue water, pink cover, white porcelain. There are days when I think I see my hands wrapped around the sides, a sliver of a girl with two fingers raw and stinking of bile, but that too disappears. But when I start thinking about other things, almost one year later, I get the colors mixed up and I’ll whisper: White water, blue cover, pink porcelain. Then, three years after my recovery, I will be peeing on the same toilet of which I am constantly recalling, though its cover mysteriously went missing a few months ago, and I will say: Black water, black cover, black porcelain. This gives me hope. Perhaps I am starting to forget. Maybe, I tell myself at night, just as I am drifting off to sleep, I will see more. Five years later, when I share a bathroom with two other women who have never even owned a scale, and who love to order Chinese food on Sunday nights, I will move my fingers slowly up the curve of my belly, toward my heart. It is as loud as a carnival drum as I close my eyes to see. I expect blue water, pink cover, white porcelain. Instead, I see myself at 4 years old, playing a plastic flute naked on my front lawn. Then I am 11, gingerly placing my dead guinea pig in a shoebox coffin lined with tissues and covered in stickers. Then I am 14, watching the crush I never got to kiss dive into the city pool in his American flag swim trunks. Finally, I turn 16, my lost year. I see what I think is a friend dancing under the illumination of a streetlight. Her fingers seem to catch the stars in the air as she breaths white smoke. She is beautiful. The night is silent as I move closer: a 24-year-old woman with bare feet on a distant winter’s night traveling through her own life. The snow crunches beneath my feet, and the girl freezes. She turns slowly towards me. “Hello?” she says, though I can tell I am not really there. Her eyes move slowly down the street before she resumes her dance. There is something in the contours of her face I know, and suddenly I understand. The girl is me. I watch her as I slowly remove my hand from my chest. She doesn’t fade away."
Guest author in Seventeen Magazine a few years ago.
- Rest of the USA: freezing to death
- Florida: sweating in shorts