I love that sweet smell of decay that surrounds me in forests and woods. A kind of mulchy, deep, rich rot that has no connotation of death or ending, but rather of life and age. A sense of perpetual destruction and rebirth.

(via outterspaces)


(via dearjanekiwi)


(via dearjanekiwi)



mylifeisasimplething:

tastefullyoffensive:

The Adventures of George Washington by LadyHistory [more]

shut up phillip or i will george you




http://youtu.be/BGW9U3GjhY4

This is a beautiful, yet somewhat of a watered-down version of when I first heard the song.  It was in a tiny church with no heat or electricity, but the congregation sang so passionately that some of them were crying, some wailing, and most were swaying.  I have a video of it, but I don’t feel comfortable sharing such an intimate thing with the world.  

I want to come back to Afrika when I know that I can make a meaningful difference there.  When my skills will be most useful, and when I can make the most of it.  I felt like I was stumbling around in South Africa when I went last, and I would like to return when I can offer something besides my big tourist eyes.  The people I met looked to me for help, and I had nothing at the time to offer, I in turn, learned so much from the people which I hope to return.  Help will come to Afrika, but not through a bunch of white American kids stumbling through it.