A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or non-sexually. Appreciates and prefers women’s culture, women’s emotional flexibility (values tears as natural counterbalance of laughter), and women’s strength. Sometimes loves individual men, sexually and/or non-sexually. Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female. Not a separatist, except periodically, for health. Traditionally universalist… Loves music. Loves dance. Loves the moon. Loves the Spirit. Loves love and food and roundness. Loves struggle. Loves the Folk. Loves herself. Regardless.

—A Womanist as defined by Alice Walker “In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens: Womanist Prose” 

(Source: genderacrossborders.com, via namedropnatalie)

There will be life after growth, and it doesn’t have to play out under conditions of misery. With less energy to fuel globalization and mechanization, there should be increasing need for local production and labor. We can reorganize our financial and production systems so that everyone’s basic needs are met. Indeed, if we focus on improving quality of life rather than increasing quantity of consumption, we could all be happier even as our economy downsizes to fit Nature’s limits.

But that benign future is unlikely to transpire if we all continue living in a dream world where growth knows no bounds.

The alarm bells are ringing. Wake up to the post-growth economy.

Richard Heinberg, The End of Growth (via solitaryforager)

thinking about this lately

(via solitaryforager)

if i ever have goats i would like to give them a castle

if i ever have goats i would like to give them a castle

(Source: veganlove)

  • the world: hey man we've got some really serious problems like global warming and mass economic failure and riots and genocide and aids and cancer and your healthcare system is shit so maybe we should get to work
  • US government: sit down I have to stop people from sharing things online

I can’t come clean and I can’t get good and dirty.

Stay.

There are snowflakes on my tongue I want to melt on your inner thigh.
There’s a face in the moon I still call Jesus some nights.