Apr 17, 2014
26,294 notes
sherlylawk-and-the-deductions:

eternal-golden:

the-unpopular-opinions:

Social Justice Warriors[SJWs] are the new cancer of the internet. They’re a bunch of college-age, American-centric, special snowflakes, who feel the need to dictate anything and everything like self-entitled asshole’s.
Who gave you the position of being the internet police?Who gave you the right to decide what words are acceptable or unacceptable to use?
Who gave you the right to judge someone’s comedy or content as bad and take it away?
Who gave you the right to constrict someone’s creativity(writing, art), because you think that it’s “problematic”?
To add to that, sjws are the most racist shitholes I’ve ever seen.
You complain about racism all the time, yet you’re the one’s who look at nothing but skin color. It doesn’t matter if a character is intelligent, strong-willed, kind, or helpful. If they’re white you automatically peg them as the devil. Lupita Nyong’o won an oscar for best supporting actress and ALL I saw was people being “so happy that a woman of color won the award”. Because it didn’t matter if Lupita was incredibly talented and nailed the shit out of that role, all you assholes focused on was her skin color.
You reduce everyone down to their sexuality or race or gender, without giving a crap about someone’s actual personality or character.
You lump everyone who isn’t white into a single category(POC).
I’d rather be identified by my race, and along with that it’s heritage, and culture, rather than be called 3 ambiguous letters or words. Do you know how ridiculously offensive it is to call a person someone “of color”? Like we’re somehow different from people who are white? Like we need our own tag to segregate us from white people? YOU ARE MOVING SOCIETY BACKWARDS WITH THIS KIND OF SHIT. 
Racism against white people exists; not in the West, but in other parts of the world. White people are not the majority everywhere. You think the world evolves around America? You think every place is as diverse as America? 
Go to Africa. Go to the Middle East. Fuck, go to parts of Asia. Open a history book maybe. SJW’s are actually trying to call Irish people POC, when they are WHITE AS SNOW because they can’t stand the fact that white people have been oppressed in history.
POC’s can be racist against other POC’s. My Arabian boss hates Asians. My black grandfather doesn’t like Mexicans. 
White people are not Satan reincarnated. POC’s are not angels. Get that through your fucking head.
And stop STOP STOP speaking for other races! You’re only making yourself look stupid and like your suffering from an extreme case of white guilt.
Stop trying to pick apart every TV show/song/movie and look for thing you might deem “problematic”.
Go outside.
Get some air.
Stay off the internet.
Talk to actual people. Because most of you have barely any real-world experience and you will be eaten alive with your ridiculous ideologies.
And before anyone says “Well not all sjw’s are like that”, I am going off of the majority of sjws on tumblr. And if I’ve learned anything from sjw’s, it’s that it’s totally fine to judge and generalize the majority. 
( The fact that I have to say that I am a black girl to avoid getting bombarded with comments like “white cishet” just shows how appalling your “movement” has become. )

I don’t think anyone can effectively argue against this person.

That last part though….

sherlylawk-and-the-deductions:

eternal-golden:

the-unpopular-opinions:

Social Justice Warriors[SJWs] are the new cancer of the internet. They’re a bunch of college-age, American-centric, special snowflakes, who feel the need to dictate anything and everything like self-entitled asshole’s.

Who gave you the position of being the internet police?
Who gave you the right to decide what words are acceptable or unacceptable to use?

Who gave you the right to judge someone’s comedy or content as bad and take it away?

Who gave you the right to constrict someone’s creativity(writing, art), because you think that it’s “problematic”?

To add to that, sjws are the most racist shitholes I’ve ever seen.

You complain about racism all the time, yet you’re the one’s who look at nothing but skin color. It doesn’t matter if a character is intelligent, strong-willed, kind, or helpful. If they’re white you automatically peg them as the devil. Lupita Nyong’o won an oscar for best supporting actress and ALL I saw was people being “so happy that a woman of color won the award”. Because it didn’t matter if Lupita was incredibly talented and nailed the shit out of that role, all you assholes focused on was her skin color.

You reduce everyone down to their sexuality or race or gender, without giving a crap about someone’s actual personality or character.

You lump everyone who isn’t white into a single category(POC).

I’d rather be identified by my race, and along with that it’s heritage, and culture, rather than be called 3 ambiguous letters or words. Do you know how ridiculously offensive it is to call a person someone “of color”? Like we’re somehow different from people who are white? Like we need our own tag to segregate us from white people? YOU ARE MOVING SOCIETY BACKWARDS WITH THIS KIND OF SHIT. 

Racism against white people exists; not in the West, but in other parts of the world. White people are not the majority everywhere. You think the world evolves around America? You think every place is as diverse as America? 

Go to Africa. Go to the Middle East. Fuck, go to parts of Asia. Open a history book maybe. SJW’s are actually trying to call Irish people POC, when they are WHITE AS SNOW because they can’t stand the fact that white people have been oppressed in history.

POC’s can be racist against other POC’s. My Arabian boss hates Asians. My black grandfather doesn’t like Mexicans. 

White people are not Satan reincarnated. POC’s are not angels. Get that through your fucking head.

And stop STOP STOP speaking for other races! You’re only making yourself look stupid and like your suffering from an extreme case of white guilt.

Stop trying to pick apart every TV show/song/movie and look for thing you might deem “problematic”.

Go outside.

Get some air.

Stay off the internet.

Talk to actual people. Because most of you have barely any real-world experience and you will be eaten alive with your ridiculous ideologies.

And before anyone says “Well not all sjw’s are like that”, I am going off of the majority of sjws on tumblr. And if I’ve learned anything from sjw’s, it’s that it’s totally fine to judge and generalize the majority. 

( The fact that I have to say that I am a black girl to avoid getting bombarded with comments like “white cishet” just shows how appalling your “movement” has become. )

I don’t think anyone can effectively argue against this person.

That last part though….

(via starfleetrambo)

Apr 17, 2014
6,692 notes

I am not offended by generalizations about white people or cis people.

fandomsandfeminism:

I’m not. If a PoC blogger gets fed up and types out a post about white people without clarifying that they meant “not all white people”, or a trans person posts about cis people without saying “not all cis people” I am not offended.

Do you want to know why?

Because…

Apr 17, 2014
277,793 notes

(Source: memewhore, via daftlypunk)

Apr 17, 2014
130,952 notes

benpaddon:

The phrase “words to live by” gets thrown around often these days, but these are absolutely words to live by.

(Source: c-mines, via starfleetrambo)

Apr 16, 2014
27 notes
Anonymous asked: Top fives things to do with a dick.

rexono:

groovychainsawscribbles:

image

image

image

image

image

very accurate

Apr 16, 2014
5,854 notes

(Source: zeddtweets, via dancingbyherself)

Apr 15, 2014
43,253 notes
troyesivan:

joshpeckofficiall:

look out world, july cinnabon flavored coffee chillatta is on his way

june matzoh ball soup

I was nervous.  I had never done anything like this before.Night had settled over the city like a cold, wet blanket, bringing with it a frosty edge that would gnaw at any exposed skin.  An unpleasant time of year.Each breath was hanged in the air before me; a burst of fresh death floating up before me.  It was only visible in the headlights of the passing cars.  The road would cry its quiet song, with each passing car brandishing the tears of the freshly melted snow.I didn’t want to be out here.  Doing this.  My heart, the thing that pumped the blood of chance, would skip a beat every time a car slowed down.  I willed them to go on.  I knew I was out here.  I knew what it was all for.But, god, I did not want them to stop.A train passed overhead.  Clacking and grinding pierced the silent night, and it ground upon my nerves, setting me on edge.Sshshshhshooommmmm.Another car passed on the wet road, with its distinct howl.The bleakness was all encompassing and consuming.  I didn’t want to be here.  I didn’t want to do this.But choices have to be made, and none of them are mine.Here I am.  How bitter and husk; death swelling at the lips, as I tried to kill my insides.Headlights had started to slow down.  I had known, as soon as they had turned the corner four blocks back.  But now they started to slow down.And I needed to be dead inside.  From now.From now until I can live again.If that ever happens.The window buzzed down; a swarm of angry bees, screaming at me, telling me to run.  A cloud of death escaped his lungs into the icy night, smoke.  The voice of the devil, almost pleasant on the still air, slid out from the car, inviting me over.The car itself was nice.  Black, new and very, very expensive.I edged forward, killing and detaching myself from it all.  I became the puppeteer to my own limbs, watching from some vague distance."How much?" He asked.I told him it depended on what he wanted.  I had it all worked out, but I couldn’t help but boosting the prices, just to discourage him.This was all a mistake.  I didn’t want to be here, and any other way would be better.The way his smokey breath hung on the air, sucked from the toxins grasped between his slender, immaculate hands.  The way his smile split across his face like an ax wound, filled with joyous malice."Well, why don’t you come in, out of the cold, and we can discuss prices," he slithered.  In any other circumstance, I could have found him attractive.  But this made him vile.I gave up on any vestige of hope.  I gave it up then and there, as I walked around and pulled open the passenger door.  It was then I gave up on me.  I could feel it.  The base of my everything slipped.  My body felt like it was drooping through its frame, and an ache gaped wide within me.  A raw crevice of defeat billowed and flared, and as I sat down in the seat, his hand slipped from the gearshift, to my thigh.My whole kept falling and falling, away from my Now.  My eyes looked up at him, but I was not seeing.  It was gone.  I was gone.I had to be.As he flicked the indicator, and pulled out onto the road, my body became nothing more than a vessel, a tool."What’s your name?"  He queried, hissing and sly, before sucking more death from the embers of cancer.I told him.  He frowned at me slightly, before focusing back on the road."How much for a whole night of full service?"I told him ridiculously inflated prices.  Nearly twenty times the standard."You wouldn’t be boosting your prices just because I drive a fancy car, would you?" He grinned at me.Clarifying, I told him it was not.  My voice was barely a whisper on the breeze of the car’s heated air."So you’re boosting your prices for something else?"I didn’t even want to be here.Silence was my response, but he was undeterred."So," he pursued, before whispering my name.  The same, revolting grin scrawled across his face again, as his hand moved from the gearshift again."Are you from around here?"I wasn’t.  I had only moved to this dreary town a year ago.  I had risked everything on a chance.  A hope.  A dream.  I had finished my book, and I was going to take it to the big city, and get it published.Things hadn’t worked out so well though.Clearly.I didn’t tell him any of this though.  I just sat there, staring at the car’s emblem, inwardly cursing myself for not realizing how little money would mean to someone who drove such a car.His gentleman mask was well fastened, and his need for small talk ensued."Nothing?  Well… What do you do with your spare time, other than work?"Hunt.  I scoured the streets, taking my transcript to every printer in town. My funds were quickly drying up.  I only had enough for one more week’s rent, and a packet of two-minute noodles.The Winter had made it trickier to negotiate the streets, and with that, had come even harder times.And so here I was, in a luxury super-sedan, wearing the least I could without freezing to death, with the Devil’s hands as idle playthings."Not chatty, I get it," he observed, in a venomous purr, "At least explain your name."My eyes rolled like the waves upon the rocky shore.I explained it to him.  He didn’t ask any more questions."We’re getting close now.  My place is on the next block over."Though I’d been hoping for it, though every fiber of my body had been willing for it to happen, when the car suddenly slipped on some black ice, I knew I hadn’t really wanted to die.  There was still so much I needed to do.The car quickly spun out, into an intersection.  I couldn’t see anything but lines of light, drawn by the traffic lights.  The howling of the tyres across the road was louder now than ever before.  We hit something, or something hit us.  Mayhem rendered me a little disoriented, as every window shattered, as the roof was almost pulled off.  The car slid to a rest.With no windows, and only half a ceiling, the cold was quick to seep in and embrace me, one last time.I exhaled slowly.  My breath was hanged in the air before me, illuminated by the light of an oncoming vehicle.  I looked across at the driver.  He was dead, or unconscious.I looked back up at the headlights.  The ex-expensive car was resting across the road, with my door facing the oncoming traffic.  The oncoming vehicle (a truck, I quickly learned) saw the black car a little too late.  When it went to apply the brakes, however, they hit the same black ice we did.The road howled and cried, and as I watched my death; hanged in the air before me.  The horn of the truck wailed and pierced through the still air like sandpaper to the nerves.I had spent my lifetime listening to music.  It had compelled me, it had moved me to tears.  Music had made me, and it had broke me.  And in my final moments, I couldn’t help but feel, with a tinge of sadness, that the horn’s blare being the last thing I’d ever hear was the worst tragedy of all.Of all the beauty and the wonder and the joy, this was my swansong.  It Dopplered closer and closer.  The truck crashed through me instantly, but it took forever to hit.All the while, its driver held down the bugle, its siren, its victory song.If death hadn’t hugged me from within just moments earlier, the whole experience could have been more traumatic.But I was already gone.I had already left.The truck crushed my vessel, and it joined me.~~~
He would go on to live, of course.  The Jaws of Life would pry him out. To get me out of the very, very expensive coffin, they would have to use sponges and a spoon.By the time they tracked down my apartment, I’d been evicted, and most of my contents discarded.  No track of my real name could be found anywhere.  In the end, they had to go with what I’d given Him, including my explanation.Many objected, but in the end, there was no alternative.Upon my grave, it reads___________________________________|                                                                    ||     Unidentified body, known only as           ||                                                                    ||                 August Milo Cereal                     ||                                                                     ||             You know, the duo kind?                ||      That has white flake things as well?       ||    Yeah, that kind.  Oh, you’re American?   | |             Well, Milo is like nesquick,              ||            only with more ‘health benefits’         ||       & better flavor.  And there’s a cereal.    ||     This joke is ruined if you’re American.     |    |                               Sorry.                            ||                                                                     |(And my tombstone is ruined if you’re on mobile)

troyesivan:

joshpeckofficiall:

look out world, july cinnabon flavored coffee chillatta is on his way

june matzoh ball soup

I was nervous.  I had never done anything like this before.
Night had settled over the city like a cold, wet blanket, bringing with it a frosty edge that would gnaw at any exposed skin.  An unpleasant time of year.

Each breath was hanged in the air before me; a burst of fresh death floating up before me.  It was only visible in the headlights of the passing cars.  The road would cry its quiet song, with each passing car brandishing the tears of the freshly melted snow.

I didn’t want to be out here.  Doing this.  My heart, the thing that pumped the blood of chance, would skip a beat every time a car slowed down.  I willed them to go on.  I knew I was out here.  I knew what it was all for.
But, god, I did not want them to stop.

A train passed overhead.  Clacking and grinding pierced the silent night, and it ground upon my nerves, setting me on edge.

Sshshshhshooommmmm.

Another car passed on the wet road, with its distinct howl.
The bleakness was all encompassing and consuming.  I didn’t want to be here.  I didn’t want to do this.

But choices have to be made, and none of them are mine.

Here I am.  How bitter and husk; death swelling at the lips, as I tried to kill my insides.

Headlights had started to slow down.  I had known, as soon as they had turned the corner four blocks back.  But now they started to slow down.
And I needed to be dead inside.  From now.

From now until I can live again.

If that ever happens.

The window buzzed down; a swarm of angry bees, screaming at me, telling me to run.  A cloud of death escaped his lungs into the icy night, smoke.  The voice of the devil, almost pleasant on the still air, slid out from the car, inviting me over.

The car itself was nice.  Black, new and very, very expensive.
I edged forward, killing and detaching myself from it all.  I became the puppeteer to my own limbs, watching from some vague distance.

"How much?" He asked.

I told him it depended on what he wanted.  I had it all worked out, but I couldn’t help but boosting the prices, just to discourage him.

This was all a mistake.  I didn’t want to be here, and any other way would be better.

The way his smokey breath hung on the air, sucked from the toxins grasped between his slender, immaculate hands.  The way his smile split across his face like an ax wound, filled with joyous malice.

"Well, why don’t you come in, out of the cold, and we can discuss prices," he slithered.  In any other circumstance, I could have found him attractive.  But this made him vile.

I gave up on any vestige of hope.  I gave it up then and there, as I walked around and pulled open the passenger door.  It was then I gave up on me.  I could feel it.  The base of my everything slipped.  My body felt like it was drooping through its frame, and an ache gaped wide within me.  A raw crevice of defeat billowed and flared, and as I sat down in the seat, his hand slipped from the gearshift, to my thigh.

My whole kept falling and falling, away from my Now.  My eyes looked up at him, but I was not seeing.  It was gone.  I was gone.

I had to be.

As he flicked the indicator, and pulled out onto the road, my body became nothing more than a vessel, a tool.

"What’s your name?"  He queried, hissing and sly, before sucking more death from the embers of cancer.

I told him.  He frowned at me slightly, before focusing back on the road.
"How much for a whole night of full service?"

I told him ridiculously inflated prices.  Nearly twenty times the standard.
"You wouldn’t be boosting your prices just because I drive a fancy car, would you?" He grinned at me.

Clarifying, I told him it was not.  My voice was barely a whisper on the breeze of the car’s heated air.

"So you’re boosting your prices for something else?"
I didn’t even want to be here.

Silence was my response, but he was undeterred.

"So," he pursued, before whispering my name.  The same, revolting grin scrawled across his face again, as his hand moved from the gearshift again.

"Are you from around here?"

I wasn’t.  I had only moved to this dreary town a year ago.  I had risked everything on a chance.  A hope.  A dream.  I had finished my book, and I was going to take it to the big city, and get it published.

Things hadn’t worked out so well though.

Clearly.

I didn’t tell him any of this though.  I just sat there, staring at the car’s emblem, inwardly cursing myself for not realizing how little money would mean to someone who drove such a car.

His gentleman mask was well fastened, and his need for small talk ensued.

"Nothing?  Well… What do you do with your spare time, other than work?"

Hunt.  I scoured the streets, taking my transcript to every printer in town. My funds were quickly drying up.  I only had enough for one more week’s rent, and a packet of two-minute noodles.

The Winter had made it trickier to negotiate the streets, and with that, had come even harder times.

And so here I was, in a luxury super-sedan, wearing the least I could without freezing to death, with the Devil’s hands as idle playthings.

"Not chatty, I get it," he observed, in a venomous purr, "At least explain your name."

My eyes rolled like the waves upon the rocky shore.

I explained it to him.  He didn’t ask any more questions.

"We’re getting close now.  My place is on the next block over."

Though I’d been hoping for it, though every fiber of my body had been willing for it to happen, when the car suddenly slipped on some black ice, I knew I hadn’t really wanted to die.  There was still so much I needed to do.

The car quickly spun out, into an intersection.  I couldn’t see anything but lines of light, drawn by the traffic lights.  The howling of the tyres across the road was louder now than ever before.  We hit something, or something hit us.  Mayhem rendered me a little disoriented, as every window shattered, as the roof was almost pulled off.  The car slid to a rest.

With no windows, and only half a ceiling, the cold was quick to seep in and embrace me, one last time.

I exhaled slowly.  My breath was hanged in the air before me, illuminated by the light of an oncoming vehicle.  I looked across at the driver.  He was dead, or unconscious.

I looked back up at the headlights.  The ex-expensive car was resting across the road, with my door facing the oncoming traffic.  The oncoming vehicle (a truck, I quickly learned) saw the black car a little too late.  When it went to apply the brakes, however, they hit the same black ice we did.

The road howled and cried, and as I watched my death; hanged in the air before me.  The horn of the truck wailed and pierced through the still air like sandpaper to the nerves.

I had spent my lifetime listening to music.  It had compelled me, it had moved me to tears.  Music had made me, and it had broke me.  And in my final moments, I couldn’t help but feel, with a tinge of sadness, that the horn’s blare being the last thing I’d ever hear was the worst tragedy of all.

Of all the beauty and the wonder and the joy, this was my swansong.  It Dopplered closer and closer.  The truck crashed through me instantly, but it took forever to hit.

All the while, its driver held down the bugle, its siren, its victory song.
If death hadn’t hugged me from within just moments earlier, the whole experience could have been more traumatic.
But I was already gone.

I had already left.

The truck crushed my vessel, and it joined me.

~~~

He would go on to live, of course.  The Jaws of Life would pry him out. To get me out of the very, very expensive coffin, they would have to use sponges and a spoon.

By the time they tracked down my apartment, I’d been evicted, and most of my contents discarded.  No track of my real name could be found anywhere.  In the end, they had to go with what I’d given Him, including my explanation.

Many objected, but in the end, there was no alternative.

Upon my grave, it reads
___________________________________
|                                                                    |
|     Unidentified body, known only as           |
|                                                                    |
|                 August Milo Cereal                     |
|                                                                     |
|             You know, the duo kind?                |
|      That has white flake things as well?       |
|    Yeah, that kind.  Oh, you’re American?   | 
|             Well, Milo is like nesquick,              |
|            only with more ‘health benefits’         |
|       & better flavor.  And there’s a cereal.    |
|     This joke is ruined if you’re American.     |    
|                               Sorry.                            |
|                                                                     |

(And my tombstone is ruined if you’re on mobile)

(Source: vfilthy, via cromulant)

Apr 15, 2014
11,321 notes
Apr 15, 2014
205,534 notes

superhighschoolleveluguu:

cutbu:

read more comics

#I THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE INSPIRATIONAL

(via adequatelyginger)

Apr 15, 2014
223,430 notes
davidandthat:

surprisingly accurate.

davidandthat:

surprisingly accurate.

(via c0lours)

Apr 15, 2014
127,205 notes
perfectimmelmannturn:

grouchythefish:

ladyofpurple:

I like how the original title for The Fault in Our Stars is all poetic and then the Norwegians just translated it to “fuck destiny” and I think that’s beautiful

Aw man, I thought for sure this had to be bullshit but nope


It’s even better when you translate the whole google search page:

perfectimmelmannturn:

grouchythefish:

ladyofpurple:

I like how the original title for The Fault in Our Stars is all poetic and then the Norwegians just translated it to “fuck destiny” and I think that’s beautiful

Aw man, I thought for sure this had to be bullshit but nope

image

It’s even better when you translate the whole google search page:

Apr 15, 2014
363 notes
laughhard:

Most pathetic reaction in a horror movie, ever.

Well they couldn’t refilm it, could they?  They ruined their wall.

laughhard:

Most pathetic reaction in a horror movie, ever.

Well they couldn’t refilm it, could they?  They ruined their wall.

(via withthedark)

Apr 15, 2014
117,172 notes

sixpenceee:

As someone who wants to study the human consciousness I found this very interesting.

Scott Routley was a “vegetable”. A car accident seriously injured both sides of his brain, and for 12 years, he was completely unresponsive.

Unable to speak or track people with his eyes, it seemed that Routley was unaware of his surroundings, and doctors assumed he was lost in limbo. They were wrong.

In 2012, Professor Adrian Owen decided to run tests on comatose patients like Scott Routley. Curious if some “vegetables” were actually conscious, Owen put Routley in an fMRI and told him to imagine walking through his home. Suddenly, the brain scan showed activity. Routley not only heard Owen, he was responding.

Next, the two worked out a code. Owen asked a series of “yes or no” questions, and if the answer was “yes,” Routley thought about walking around his house. If the answer was “no,” Routley thought about playing tennis.

These different actions showed activity different parts of the brain. Owen started off with easy questions like, “Is the sky blue?” However, they changed medical science when Owen asked, “Are you in pain?” and Routley answered, “No.” It was the first time a comatose patient with serious brain damage had let doctors know about his condition.

While Scott Routley is still trapped in his body, he finally has a way to reach out to the people around him. This finding has huge implications.

SOURCE

(via lisamariecosplay)

Apr 15, 2014
683 notes

fer1972:

The Shade Lamp by YOY

Oh

Apr 15, 2014
274 notes

eastiseverywhere:

I recently got ticked off over a “Read the World” list that was still really centred on Western books.

Then I started thinking: what if there were a reading list of 100 books that reflected the actual demographics of the world population of 7.152 billion people right now?

Thus, behold my Listchallenge. Here are:

19 books from China;
17 from India;
4 from the US;
3 from Indonesia, Brazil and Pakistan;
2 from Nigeria, Bangladesh, Japan and Mexico, and
1 each from the Philippines, Vietnam, Ethiopia, Egypt, Germany, Iran, Turkey, DRC, Thailand, France, UK, Italy, Burma, South Africa, South Korea, Colombia, Spain, Ukraine, Tanzania, Kenya, Argentina, Algeria, Poland, Sudan, Uganda, Canada, Iraq, Morocco, Peru, Uzbekistan, Malaysia, Saudi Arabia, Venezuela, Nepal, Afghanistan, Yemen, North Korea, Ghana, Mozambique, Australia and Taiwan.

50 books are by men. 49 are by women.1 is a work of divine revelation.

Authors (roughly) reflect the ethnic makeup of their nations – e.g. the South African author is Black, not white; the Malaysian author is Malay, not Chinese; one of the PRC authors is non-Han Chinese; one of the American authors is non-white.

I’ve tried to represent a range of historical periods and the most acclaimed writers in each section. Writers presented are those widely available in English - this is why Ding Ling, Zhang Yueran and Akka Mahadevi weren’t featured: because it’s really hard to find their work. Also, a writer is only of a nationality if s/he’s got/had citizenship of the area at some point - i.e. Jhumpa Lahiri is American, not Indian.

Sure, I know this list is problematic – smaller countries, like those of the Caribbean and Oceania, are kind of wiped out. But I’m open to change this. So send in your suggestions for changes if you’ve got them! 

And remember: if you’re gonna read the world, you might as well do it RIGHT.

Full list of books:

CHINA

The Analects of Confucius

The Tao Te Ching of Lao Zi

The Art of War by Sun Zi

The Poems of Li Qingzhao

The Journey to the West by Wu Cheng En

Dream of the Red Chamber by Cao Xueqin

The Romance of the Three Kingdoms by Shi Naian

Selected Stories of Lu Xun

Rickshaw Boy by Lao She

The Dyer’s Daughter by Xiao Hong

Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang

Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian

The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan

The Girl Who Played Go by Shan Sa

Red Azalea by Anchee Min

The Song of Everlasting Sorrow by Wang Anyi

Daughter of the River by Hong Ying

Wild Swans by Jung Chang

The Good Women of China by Xinran

INDIA

The Ramayana of Valmiki

The Mahabharata by Vyasa

The Dhammapada of Buddha 

The Kural of Tiruvalluvar

The Story of My Experiments With Truth by Mohandas K. Gandhi

Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie

A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth

The Great Indian Novel by Shashi Tharoor 

Five Point Someone: What Not to Do at IIT by Chetan Bhagat

A River Sutra by Gita Mehta

The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy

Breast Stories by Mahasweta Devi

Fasting, Feasting by Anita Desai

Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai

The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni 

Spouse: The Truth About Marriage by Shobhaa De 

Moving On by Shashi Deshpande

USA

The Poems of Emily Dickinson

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, 

Beloved by Toni Morrison

INDONESIA

Letters from A Javanese Princess by Raden Adjeng Kartini

This Earth of Mankind by Pramoedya Ananta Toer 

Saman by Ayu Utami

BRAZIL

Dom Casmurro by Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis

Dona Flor and her Two Husbands by Jorge Amado

The Hours of the Star by Clarice Lispector

PAKISTAN

Songs of Blood and Sword by Fatima Bhutto

The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid

A Case of Exploding Mangoes by Mohammed Hanif

NIGERIA

Wole Soyinka’s Death and the King’s Horseman

Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamande Ngozi Adichie

BANGLADESH

Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore

The Good Muslim by Tahmima Anam

RUSSIA

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

The Poems of Anna Akhmatova

JAPAN

The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon

Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami

MEXICO

The Death of Artemio Cruz by Carlos Fuentes

Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel

PHILIPPINES

Ilustrado by Miguel Syjuco

VIETNAM

When Heaven and Earth Changed Places by Le Ly Hayslip

ETHIOPIA

Beneath the Lion’s Gaze by Maaza Mengiste

EGYPT

Palace Walk by Naguib Mahfouz

GERMANY

The Origins of Totalitarianism by Hannah Arendt

IRAN

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi

TURKEY

My Name Is Red by Orhan Pamuk

DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO

The Congo: From Leopold to Kabila: A People’s History by Georges Nzongola-Ntalaja

THAILAND

Letters from Thailand by Botan

FRANCE

Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert 

UK

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

ITALY

The Aeneid by Virgil

BURMA

Letters from Burma by Aung San Suu Kyi

SOUTH AFRICA

Long Walk to Freedom by Nelson Mandela

SOUTH KOREA

Please Look After Mother by Kyung Sook Shin

COLOMBIA

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

SPAIN

The Life of St Teresa of Avila by Herself 

UKRAINE

The White Guard by Mikail Bulgakhov

TANZANIA

Paradise by Abdulrazak Gurnah

KENYA

Devil on the Cross by Ngugi wa’Thiongo

ARGENTINA

The Topless Tower by Silvina Ocampo 

ALGERIA

Fantasia: An Algerian Calvacade by Assia Djebar

POLAND

The Poems of Wislawa Szymborska

SUDAN

Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih

UGANDA

Song of Lawino and Song of Ocol by Okot p’Bitek

CANADA

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

IRAQ

The Poems of Rabia Basri

MOROCCO

Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits by Laila Lalami

PERU

The Time of the Hero by Mario Vargas Llosa

UZBEKISTAN

The Dancer from Khiva by Bibish

MALAYSIA

Kampung Boy by Lat

SAUDI ARABIA

The Quran

VENEZUELA

Doña Inés vs. Oblivion by Ana Teresa Torres

NEPAL

The End of the World by Sushma Joshi

AFGHANISTAN

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

YEMEN

I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced by Nujood Ali

NORTH KOREA

Eyes of the Tailless Animals by Soon Ok Lee

GHANA

Changes by Ama Ata Adoo

MOZAMBIQUE

Neighbours: A Story of a Murder by Lília Momplé

AUSTRALIA

Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay

TAIWAN

Notes of a Desolate Man by Chu Ti’en-Wen

Picnic at hanging rock doesn’t really abide by the ‘reflecting ethnicity’.  You’d need something by an indigenous Australian.

(via captainpenelope)

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