She looked perfectly into the camera
she looked perfectly into eternity u mean
Four or five months, I guess. And thank you so much! <3
I want to get another A:TLA/TLOK related tattoo again, but I don’t know if I’ll get the mark of the brave on my left wrist or I’ll write “Find the light in the dark” somewhere
I completely lost my sense of humor when I realized offensive things aren’t funny so now I just rely on heavy sarcasm and everyone thinks I’m a dick
who wants to give up on society and go live in a treehouse with me
you know that one album that youve listened to so many times and youd defend it with your life and you can anticipate every single little note that comes after the other and you can sing along to every word and it just has a special place in your heart that no other album can fill
Enter India; the land of the friendly brown people, exotic enough to be sensual, and yet dirty and smelly enough to be real; two essential ingredients in discovery destinations of the wealthy, white seeker. In the world of cheaply bought jet-travel, no other country has been able to harness through clever marketing and strategic imaging; the market made available by the Western search for fulfillment. Be it the old people in the movie Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, or the wry truth speaking slum observing author Katherine Boo of “Beyond Beautiful Forevers”; India has cornered the market on providing rare, jewel like insights into self and spirit to a class of curious Westerners rapt by its complexity and uncertainty. It’s a perfectly brewed cup for those planning a search for the unique and un-replicable, for near every slum is a luxury hotel with the comforts of home, and inside the most rural of villages a helpful man who speaks English. The results are tremendous; India today is a clearly marked stop on the Westerner’s road to authenticity; yoga is the new religion in Brooklyn and chai the favorite drink at any Starbucks.
If India is the land of the friendly brown people, where the battling of filth, heat and mosquitos and such authentically sub-continental discomforts provides the visiting Westerner with a sense of challenges overcome and comforts confiscated; Pakistan predictably is its opposite. If Indians have managed to forge a reputation on welcoming whites seeking their wisdom, stoically swallowing their self-righteous judgments on their society, Pakistan has cornered the market on the sinister, the sly and the un-quantifiably dangerous. The Westerners that do waft into Islamabad (no one even bothers with Karachi or Quetta or Peshawar) are a straggly bunch, aid workers or journalists small in number and scared in nature. They stay in their hotels and count the uncertain seconds to their departures, warily eying everyone they encounter for the suspicious slump of a suicide jacket, or the bumping bulge of a bomb. Scenes from Zero Dark Thirty dominate and stories from Seal Team Six loop in an eternal circle.
In both cases of stereotyping the two countries, Western imperialism renders people on both sides of the border as voiceless objects, not humans with complex narratives and histories. =