Good Intentions Co.

"All that you touch
You Change. All that you Change
Changes you. The only lasting truth
is Change. God
is Change." - Octavia Butler

I just home remedied by pinkie and im really proud of myself! Ive been having an allergic reaction the dish soap we use at work and my skin is chapped and irritated. 

So today i came up and smothered my pinkie in honey and soaked it in olive oil and its way better. 


To every man who has ever been condescending, deeming, or lecherous to a service worker-

the jokes on you. 

I’m a witch and I just gave you all massive kidney stones. 

Sometimes it all worms its way in.

Grabs me, a choke hold, as I sputter and spit that I believe in a different solution.

The not enoughs, the not enoughs, the not enoughs, gain too much momentum and I am riding, no breaks, towards nihilism.

Ive lost my handle on social cues because for me, laughter and tears are both coming from the same place.

Please dont tell me the odds. 

Because I believe in the collapse of the insurmountable. 

But sometimes the wall to wall to do list of survival is too much. 

And it worms its way in. 

The consequence of hope

I hope militantly. 

With action

and with consequences, 

for myself- when I trust people that are too torn up selfish, 

but mostly for those people that believe my hope is a blind spot 

for those people, there will be consequences. 

i shiver at the thought of
falling in love with a
tiny part of someone
and mistaking it
for the whole

Gloria Richardson pushes a national guard bayonet out of her face during a 1963 civil rights protest in Maryland.

Gloria Richardson pushes a national guard bayonet out of her face during a 1963 civil rights protest in Maryland.

(Source: clintisiceman, via maghrabiyya)

Your love is like an Oregon beach. Beautiful, but that shits cold. 


Iranian photographer Hossein Fatemi, offers a glimpse of an entirely different side to Iran than the image usually broadcasted by domestic and foreign media. In his photo series An Iranian Journey, many of the photographs reveal an Iran that most people never see, presenting an eye-opening look at the amazing diversity and contrasts that exist in the country.

(via poc-creators)

Can we talk about this? Like forever. 



I want to write rage but all that comes is sadness. We have been sad long enough to make this earth either weep or grow fertile. I am an anachronism, a sport, like the bee that was never meant to fly. Science said so. I am not supposed to exist. I carry death around in my body like a condemnation. But I do live. The bee flies. There must be some way to integrate death into living, neither ignoring it nor giving into it.

— Audre Lorde, 11/19/79
The Cancer Journals, 1997 edition


Empathy isn’t just something that happens to us—a meteor shower of synapses firing across the brain—it’s also a choice we make: to pay attention, to extend ourselves. It’s made of exertion, that dowdier cousin of impulse. Sometimes we care for another because we know we should, or because it’s asked for, but this doesn’t make our caring hollow. The act of choosing simply means we’ve committed ourselves to a set of behaviors greater than the sum of our individual inclinations: I will listen to his sadness, even when I’m deep in my own. To say ‘going through the motions’—this isn’t reduction so much as acknowledgment of the effort—the labor, the motions, the dance—of getting inside another person’s state of heart or mind.

This confession of effort chafes against the notion that empathy should always arise unbidden, that genuine means the same thing as unwilled, that intentionality is the enemy of love. But I believe in intention and I believe in work. I believe in waking up in the middle of the night and packing our bags and leaving our worst selves for our better ones.

— The Empathy Exams, Leslie Jamison (via The Believer)