Tell me about sex.  How many times did you die before your body was buried?  Are orgasms just practice for the main event?  

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novocainelipstick:

jamesdeenhateclub:

Tura Satana appreciation post. here’s what u need to know:

  • born in 1938 and died in 2011
  • her parents were a silent movie actor and a circus performer
  • she was gang-raped by five men when she was ten. they were never prosecuted and it was rumoured that the judge was paid off.
  • this prompted her to train in various martial arts (such as aikido and karate)
  • over the next 15 years, she hunted down each of her rapists and exacted revenge against them. they never even knew who she was until she told them
  • at the same time, she formed an all-woman gang called “the angeles”
  • "we had leather motorcycle jackets, jeans and boots and we kicked butt."
  • moved to los angeles when she was 15 and supported herself
  • dated elvis presley and turned down a marriage proposal from him
  • her most famous film role was in 1965, as varla, a “very aggressive and sexual female character”, in faster, pussycat! kill! kill! (a film that was “an ode to female violence”)
  • Tura was responsible for her own costume, makeup, use of martial arts, and much of her dialouge. she also performed all her own stunts and fight scenes
  • was known for not taking shit from anyone. russ meyer, the director for faster, pussycat! kill!, said of her “[tura was] extremely capable. she knew how to handle herself. don’t fuck with her! and if you have to fuck her, do it well! she might turn on you!”

Mother

 11644

Oh, sometimes, indeed.

(Source: hillergoodspeed, via horrorproportions)

Oh, sometimes, indeed.
 1427

generationblank:

phyllis galembo

(via sexgenderbody)

generationblank:

phyllis galembo
 1

All of my fear reduces into anger.  All of my anger reduces into sadness. All of my sadness reduces into feeling hurt. All of my hurt reduces into a nauseating fear of being vulnerable. Or piercing pains of when I wasn’t.  Repeat.   I learned one day that spitting nails only leads to broken teeth. I want to love and love and love. Hold a pose for too long and you should want to collapse.

 2
 59108

Jean-Paul Sartre, from The Sellected Essays (via violentwavesofemotion)

So true.

(via bloodyqueefs)

"Every word has consequences. Every silence, too."

 2

Painting idea.

Painting idea.
 163

Dr. Maya Angelou (via emperic)

(via prematuregranny)

"This a a wonderful day. I’ve never seen this one before."

 11619

Maya Angelou  (via thatkindofwoman)

and being willing to (re)learn what love truly is

(via rosas-sylvestres)

(Source: tusojosbrillan, via bloodyromangodfrey-deactivated2)

"Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time"

 145359

(Source: peakintheshadow, via blackspartacus)

 277

dearrintheheadlights:

Aw, man.

Finals

(Source: gai1peck)

 4

Yesterday, there was a moment when I couldn’t find her grave. I had turned into the wrong lot. There were more graves than I remembered, and garish flowers and trinkets and people milling about. I was the only person there alone, without family. It reminded me of a parade. Instead of drinking there was sorrow. It reminded me specifically of a parade I went to with my mother when I was 5. At the end of the parade, a huge group of people came through and separated me from my mother. I had never gotten lost before. I have never been good with directions, but when you’re 5 getting turned around feels like you’re drowning. I felt as if I would never find her. I never thought that helpless feeling would return, much less on Mother’s Day searching for her grave.  Except then I got to hold her hand. Here, I was bitten by an ant that feeds from her bones. I wish I knew Spanish.  I need to teach myself Spanish.  There’s a sorrow in my heart that cries out in a language I only speak in my blood.  I need to teach myself a lot of things.  I need to learn to focus.  I can’t focus, today.  I can only feel today.  I just want to sleep, today.

#my heart hurts #please hug me
Yesterday, there was a moment when I couldn’t find her grave. I had turned into the wrong lot. There were more graves than I remembered, and garish flowers and trinkets and people milling about. I was the only person there alone, without family. It reminded me of a parade. Instead of drinking there was sorrow. It reminded me specifically of a parade I went to with my mother when I was 5. At the end of the parade, a huge group of people came through and separated me from my mother. I had never gotten lost before. I have never been good with directions, but when you’re 5 getting turned around feels like you’re drowning. I felt as if I would never find her. I never thought that helpless feeling would return, much less on Mother’s Day searching for her grave.  Except then I got to hold her hand. Here, I was bitten by an ant that feeds from her bones. I wish I knew Spanish.  I need to teach myself Spanish.  There’s a sorrow in my heart that cries out in a language I only speak in my blood.  I need to teach myself a lot of things.  I need to learn to focus.  I can’t focus, today.  I can only feel today.  I just want to sleep, today.
 1004347

(via solacity)

I will never not reblog this

(via nuedvixx)

(Source: anachronica, via sami-olive)

"if you consider a woman
less pure after you’ve touched her
maybe you should take a look at your hands"