These girls aren’t wounded so much as post-​wounded, and I see their sisters everywhere. They’re over it. I am not a melodramatic person. God help the woman who is. What I’ll call “post-​wounded” isn’t a shift in deep feeling (we understand these women still hurt) but a shift away from wounded affect: These women are aware that “woundedness” is overdone and overrated. They are wary of melodrama, so they stay numb or clever instead. Post-​wounded women make jokes about being wounded or get impatient with women who hurt too much. The post-​wounded woman conducts herself as if preempting certain accusations: Don’t cry too loud; don’t play victim. Don’t ask for pain meds you don’t need; don’t give those doctors another reason to doubt. Post-​wounded women fuck men who don’t love them and then they feel mildly sad about it, or just blasé about it; they refuse to hurt about it or to admit they hurt about it—​or else they are endlessly self-​aware about it, if they do allow themselves this hurting.

The post-​wounded posture is claustrophobic: jadedness, aching gone implicit, sarcasm quick on the heels of anything that might look like self-​pity. I see it in female writers and their female narrators, troves of stories about vaguely dissatisfied women who no longer fully own their feelings. Pain is everywhere and nowhere. Post-​wounded women know that postures of pain play into limited and outmoded conceptions of womanhood. Their hurt has a new native language spoken in several dialects: sarcastic, jaded, opaque; cool and clever. They guard against those moments when melodrama or self-​pity might split their careful seams of intellect, expose the shame of self-​absorption without self-​awareness.

pardonmewhileipanic:

BLESS THIS FUCKING CHILD OMG

(Source: meanplastic)

nwilsonphoto:

Super Moon over Mt. Hood
by Nicholas Peter Wilson


This makes me sad.

nwilsonphoto:

Super Moon over Mt. Hood

by Nicholas Peter Wilson

This makes me sad.

claysteakley:

Waylon Jennings and Porter Wagoner in Nashville Rebel, 1966.

claysteakley:

Waylon Jennings and Porter Wagoner in Nashville Rebel, 1966.

californiapunk:

Rancid - Old Friend

This song is my life right now.

lachantefleurie:

“What moon will gather up
your sorrow of lime and oleander?”

— Federico García Lorca, Collected Poems

(Source: theperfumemaker)

There are
some feelings
you will never
find words for;

you will learn
to name them
after the ones
who gave them
to you.

I learned a man’s gotta be alot tougher then the timber he’s cutting.

Johnny Cash (via absea)

(Source: prime-northwest)

(Source: randomlydavid)

joshwool:

Shovels and Rope - Newport Folk Festival 2014

joshwool:

Shovels and Rope - Newport Folk Festival 2014

temptings:

humans-of-pdx:

"This is my first cabbage! You know, a lot of times they’re kind of soft, but this one is solid! It’s going to be good eatin’!" "What are you going to make with it?""Well, this one I’m giving to my parents. You have to give the first one away or you just spoil the whole spirit of gardening."


This is the cutest thing I’ve seen all day

temptings:

humans-of-pdx:

"This is my first cabbage! You know, a lot of times they’re kind of soft, but this one is solid! It’s going to be good eatin’!" 
"What are you going to make with it?"
"Well, this one I’m giving to my parents. You have to give the first one away or you just spoil the whole spirit of gardening."

This is the cutest thing I’ve seen all day

softna:

i need a two hour long hug

Cool friends.

Cool friends.

Break ups are slightly less shitty when you can flirt with hot blacksmiths when you get off work.

Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.

Leonardo da Vinci  (via thatkindofwoman)
I miss Alaska so much. I miss my family.

(Source: kushandwizdom)