1. condesces:

    defend non-native speakers of english to the grave

    defend people with stigmatized accents to the grave

    defend speakers of marginalized varieties of english to the grave

  3. (Source: twoheadedshark)

  4. (Source: dailydoseofstuf)

  6. azizisbored:

    If you are fortunate enough, at some point in your life, you must go to the south of France and check your phone.

  8. makinsomejokes:


    Louis C.K.’s opening monologue on SNL.

    (via queerkenosis)


  9. sstephaniecaroll:

    what if jonah hill wins an oscar before leo


  10. returnthegayze:

    there is a joke among
    indians that our families never
    seem to smile in photographs.
    this seems to be a strategy
    that we are losing in the diaspora

    growing up i remember learning the names
    of relatives
    like the ways we are taught to identify
    constellations in the night sky: 
    always looking from a
    trying to determine lines and
    shapes to recall should we be
    so fortunate enough to meet in person
    one day

    i come from
    a family of shitty digital photographs 
    of old people not smiling — with hearts
    made out of thousands of phone cords
    hugging tightly – attached to
    emails from across the ocean inundated
    with so many prayers and blessings that
    sometimes i think i could break
    all the rules and still be okay
    (cause grandma’s got me covered
    for life)

    you see this is what it means to be
    of diaspora:
    to embrace half of your family as low quality photos 
    of wrinkles and frowns 
    is to become
    intimately familiar with the dust of
    a family album, the static of a phone
    receiver, the stories of a time and 
    country always on the other side
    of your palm 
    where the brownest
    parts of you reside

    so family is never really about the kiss,
    the hug, the touch. it is more of a feeling
    that we learn how to carry deep inside our chests
    it is
    more of a type of connection that no 
    border can swallow
    it is about hearing the news across the receiver
    that one of those stars thousands of miles away flickered out
    and maybe you only saw it once or twice but
    you are still weeping because
    you remember the aluminum of a voice 
    remember the grayest of eyes 
    remember that scowl and how deeply and defiantly it loved you 
    amidst it all

    but to be of the diaspora
    means that
    you are growing accustomed to
    this perpetual feeling of loss
    how much sense it makes to experience it in this country where they have tried their best to rid you of your ancestors (so they can
    call you their own) and all of the other ways of being before the smile they forced on your face that moment they took your photo after granting you a college degree and stealing your native tongue
    after giving you a pay raise and sending a bomb across the ocean
    after reminding you american and reminding ‘them’ terrorist

    you see this is what it means to be
    of diaspora: to not be able to isolate
    the grief of one passing from another
    sort of passage, to become so familiar
    of losing that we become comfortable with
    mispronouncing our names and our faces
    with features that were
    never meant for us
    and we do not have a language to explain
    to the constellations that we were already lonely before they left us

    so maybe i am terrified of my own smile because it reveals the vastness of an ocean 
    and just how much we are capable of losing
    and how much we have already

    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 
    this is an original poem by alok vaid-menon. please consider supporting the artist.

    (Source: returnthegayze)