I know a lot of creative people and perhaps by correlation I know a lot of people who struggle with depression. They have told me (and they’ve told the world) how depression sits there, implacable, and drains the color out of the world until no success or joy matters. I believe them, and it becomes increasingly evident that no matter who you are or what you’ve achieved, that depression is a good liar and can make you believe none of it matters.
I know and love too many people with depression to believe that it’s something that’s shameful to talk about or to acknowledge. I want them alive and I want them here with us. If you have depression I want you alive and here with us. Don’t let the moment take you. Don’t be afraid to get help. The people who love you want you here. Believe it.

John Scalzi

No matter what problems you are dealing with, we want to help you find a reason to keep living. By calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255) you’ll be connected to a skilled, trained counselor at a crisis center in your area, anytime 24/7.

(via wilwheaton)

09:29 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean
In the 101 top-grossing family films…from 1990 to 2004, of the over 4,000 characters in these films, 75% overall were male, 83% of characters in crowds were male, 83% of narrators were male, and 72% of speaking were male. When the American Psychological Association commented on this research, they said, ‘This gross under-representation of women or girls in films with family-friendly content reflects a missed opportunity to present a broad spectrum of girls and women in roles that are non-sexualised.’

Natasha Walter, Living Dolls: The Return of Sexism, pages 69-70, 2010. (via bitemebeautiful)

Bringing this back as people have started reblogging this again and EVERYONE SHOULD KNOW THIS.

(via bitemebeautiful)

(Source: peachstones)

11:30 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean



Naps, a Haiku, by Jasper Islington

Slept all through the night

Breakfast eaten, what to do?

Nap time here I come

Corgis have to play Tetris with their long-ass bodies sometimes.

+  12:37 am, reblogged by peacefulbean
STFU, Conservatives: Buy your gifts here: Tumblr-approved Etsy shops and other crafters


Earlier I mentioned that this year, I want to buy more of my gifts from small businesses and Etsy sellers instead of mega-corps. I asked my crafty readers to send me links to their or their friends’ online shops/Etsy stores so I could make a list. Here’s the list!


12:00 am, reblogged by peacefulbean


the only necessary information.

(Source: hollowprose)

11:52 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean
Governments don’t want well informed, well educated people capable of critical thinking. That is against their interests. They want obedient workers, people who are just smart enough to run the machines and do the paperwork. And just dumb enough to passively accept it.
George Carlin  (via keepyourselfaware)

(Source: haereticum)

12:01 am, reblogged by peacefulbean

Charlie Hunnam & Jason Mewes (x)

+  09:38 am, reblogged by peacefulbean


Iron & Wine Cover Johnny Cash’s “Long Black Veil”

11:31 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean

(Source: tastefullyoffensive)

12:11 am, reblogged by peacefulbean


dream outfit.

+  11:46 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean


Elephant. Cara Cable, Black Cat Tattoos, Pittsburgh, PA.

First session, three hours. Based off of this (and will eventually look something like that with similar colors as a complete half-sleeve): http://imgur.com/a/u4vyM

Side views, as taken by my artist: http://instagr.am/p/KV9ZbAIZlh/

+  06:51 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean




(Source: fyeahbassethounds)

07:06 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean

(Source: kirp)

11:14 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean

(Source: copio)

+  11:57 pm, reblogged by peacefulbean
CandidlyCara: So I woke up this morning in a pool of my own blood.


Wait, let me back up.

Hi, my name is Cara and I’m a 21 year old woman. Every 28 days, give or take, I have a period. And it fucking sucks. Today, was one of those where I take from the 28 day cycle. I wasn’t due for another period for at least a week, but considering that my period is pretty much permanently irregular, I get to wake up a lot of mornings in a pool of my own blood. Hmm. Lovely.

I then proceed to dump my sheets, my underwear, and my pajamas in my laundry room in a tub filled with cold water, with the hopes that this time I haven’t ruined them permanently.

What next? Well, a shower of course! To wipe off the smell of rotting blood from my body! Squeaky clean and towel fresh I have about a two minute window before the volcano of blood begins to erupt again from my vagina.

What will it be today? A piece of chlorinated toilet paper cardboard with a string that I get to shove up my hole wherein the blood will sit and rot until the next time I can shove another piece of chlorinated cardboard up the same hole? Or, a plastic lined toilet paper diaper attached to my underwear that causes rug burn to my vaginal area when I walk? Well the later requires less coordination, and it is early, so I guess I’ll be sitting in a period diaper today. The best ever.

Of course, I could always just get birth control, and lessen this whole shit. But 1) I can’t afford it 2) I can’t ask my dad to pay for it because, guess what? Just like the men who run my government, my father correlates birth control with sexual promiscuity! Thus, sitting on my rotting blood, undergoing severe cramps that have on more than one occasion caused me to black out, it is! (Not that birth control is such a walk in the park either, our bodies have to learn to deal with the hormones and other chemicals and consequences that birth control entails.)

Then, I get to go to class, where I have to pretend that I am not a leaky faucet of blood and tissue. I get to sit in Calculus, and if heaven forbid, I need an additional pad, I have to be discrete about it, so as not to offend the men’s gentle sensibilities to the fact that I am the one dropping tissues and blood from my body through my vagina.  

I once asked a male to take me to the pharmacy so that I could pick up (GASP) pads, or as we like to call it “feminine products” (again, so as not to offend the gentlemen’s overly sensitive natures) and had him equate me talking about my period to him talking about his erections.







This is nothing like your fucking erection’s. I don’t derive any enjoyment from this. I can’t mentally control any ounce of this entire process. I can’t masturbate my problem away. My period does not end in orgasm.

It stays. For at least five days in my case. Draining blood out of my body. Causing me severe cramps, making me irritable -not because I’m uncomfortable (which mind you, would be reason enough) - but because my hormones are all over the place, bloating me up to two sizes larger than I normally am, I have to actively fight not to smell like a fish market, and on top of that, you want me to be hush-hush about this? Because it’s icky for you?

And this is not an attack on that one man, this is an attack on ALL MEN who on top of sitting on their throne of gender privilege want me to stay quiet and be content about the fact that five days out of every month I get to undergo this happiest of joys.

And then, these very same men have the audacity to get annoyed because we don’t want to listen to their bullshit complaining about traffic? Or whatever other meaningless story they happen to tell us while our bodies are actively fighting against us? Then we get to be the butt of their tired-ass jokes? Sorry, I am most certainly not sorry.

I repeat NO. I say women come out of the period closet and say, “You know what, this happens to me. Every. Fucking. Month. And it’s terrible. LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY MORNING.” Because the truth is, if I live in a country where Viagra is covered by medical insurance, but birth control isn’t, I can no longer keep denying that I live in a country that is actively waging a war on women. And if I live in a country that is actively waging war on my sex, the least I am going to do is break patriarchal social propriety to inform anyone and everyone of the shit biological process I was BLESSED enough to be born into.

Hello, my name is Cara, I’m a 21 year old woman, and today I’m on my period. Let me fucking tell you about it.

12:03 am, reblogged by peacefulbean