incuntations-blog

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I love how behind every single window, there is a different person who has a story that we know nothing about and I sometimes forget that my life isn’t the only life in the world

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Low income/poor vegans

No Bull, No Bucks (my food blog)

Fuck Yeah Poor Vegans (great blog)

Vegan on a Budget (blog)

Cheap Vegan (blog)

Low Cost Vegan Meal Plans

Vegans recovering from eating disorders

Vegan ED Recovery (blog)

Green Recovery:...

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There comes a time, shortly after their death, when the grief is no longer paralyzing. You will be able to catch your breath, however ragged and choked it might be, and speak full sentences. Yet you will remain immobilized because as time goes on and the reality of their absence makes its home on your weary shoulders, you will fail to find the motivation to move through a world that no longer has them in it. Your teary storm will subside, and you will be left with a cold ache that tells you that you could walk to the very ends of the earth, you could look under every stone and bed and in every crevice of your broken self, but you will never find them. They're nowhere to be found. They're no one to be found. They're just gone. Not here. And the grief will continue. As it grows, you shrink, and your friends stop calling because the acceptable grieving period has long passed and you're not fun anymore. You're not you anymore. You're not here anymore, or anywhere. 

But the sweetest--and, perhaps, only--solace comes at night. Not the first night, because your own weeping will keep you awake. But in the nights after, you will find a comfort in dreams--a comfort unlike any other you have experienced or will experience. It is the deceitful comfort of seeing them one more time. Holding them, Smelling them. Kissing them. Saying a goodbye that they never heard and will never hear because they're gone and you're not. You're here and they're not and never will be again. Still, you can sleep. You can dream. No grief can take that from you. Even if all you dream of is them, dying before your very eyes, you can lie to yourself in your dream where no one can hear you. You can tell yourself that their death isn't so bad because it's all just a dream. 

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Because we don’t speak about sex, there is no socially acceptable language surrounding it. So the language of porn has jumped in to fill that space, and that’s an issue, because in a male-dominated industry the language of porn is all too often male-generated. The person who coined the term “finger blasting” didn’t have a vagina. The person who coined the term, “getting your ass railed” never got their ass railed. Pounding, hammering, banging… And language matters, because when the only language you have available is abusive and one-directional, in terms of having things done to you, it creates a very weird view of how sex works.

Porn Is Dead, Long Live Sex | VICE United States (via sinshine)

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Spicy cucumber salad and butternut squash soup. Keeping it simple tonight.

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Man, I promise, she’s so self conscious She has no idea what she’s doing in college That major that she majored in don’t make no money But she won’t drop out, her parents will look at her funny

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Everything you need to know about Sochi’s stray dog problem

As the clock raced towards opening day on Friday, the official plan became clear: Exterminators were going to kill all of them.

Some hundreds of dogs have already been destroyed, and one advocate estimated that the death toll may be 5,000-7,000. A Russian billionaire’s efforts to rescue the strays may have been too little, too late.

"We were told, ‘Either you take all the dogs from the Olympic Village or we will shoot them,’"said Olga Melnikova, who is co-ordinated a humane capturing operation on behalf of the Russian charity Volnoe Delo. Another animal lover acting independently, local dentist Vlada Provotorova, says that she and her friends were only able to save less than a hundred of the dogs.

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