Come kiss me sweet-and-twenty
Old maps, new books, feathers, champagne, science journals, new love, old flames, roses, polo, pantomine, painted nails, musical notes, spontaneous napping, hard truths, poetry, face paint, postprocessualism, fresh rain, riding your bike, never giving up

I'm a realist, I'm a romanticist, I'm an archaeology student and that's about it.
27th April 11
fortheloveofbertrand: whitewhine: …You forgot to mention 75-90 years of having a life that is far better than everyone else’s. Ugh. This basically happened the other day; apparently, a friend of mine wishes to visit Libya at the moment because at the moment it’s ‘interesting’ there. Blargh. Ah pity/poverty tourism, where would you be without the north London middle class? Pity me, I’m so bored of my life, I earn good money and yet I want to be poor. Do people like this understand who they come across? How many times is the word ‘I’ used?The world is a wonderous place where so much beauty can be found in so many ways. The writer wants to find loveliness in the hard life of a migrant worker, but what she does not realise is that for those who live the life, there is no beauty in it, there is no appreciation of ‘how hard life is’ and ‘the struggle of life’. There is only the constant knowledge that work is the difference between life and death, it is not poetry for those who live those hard lives. I’m sure they’d gladly swap worlds with this narcissistic author in a heartbeat.

fortheloveofbertrand:

whitewhine:

…You forgot to mention 75-90 years of having a life that is far better than everyone else’s.

Ugh. This basically happened the other day; apparently, a friend of mine wishes to visit Libya at the moment because at the moment it’s ‘interesting’ there. Blargh. Ah pity/poverty tourism, where would you be without the north London middle class?

Pity me, I’m so bored of my life, I earn good money and yet I want to be poor. Do people like this understand who they come across? How many times is the word ‘I’ used?
The world is a wonderous place where so much beauty can be found in so many ways. The writer wants to find loveliness in the hard life of a migrant worker, but what she does not realise is that for those who live the life, there is no beauty in it, there is no appreciation of ‘how hard life is’ and ‘the struggle of life’. There is only the constant knowledge that work is the difference between life and death, it is not poetry for those who live those hard lives. I’m sure they’d gladly swap worlds with this narcissistic author in a heartbeat.

(via spitthepips)