What does "conscious connection" mean to you on social media? - @mollybryn
Oh wow. “Conscious” and “connection” are two words that have unfortunately been commoditized and swallowed whole by advertising, media, and capitalistic companies.
IN ONE LINE, DESCRIBE WHAT JANNE ROBINSON/THIS IS FOR THE WOMEN IS.
Janne Robinson is a 21st-century feminist beat poet, director, author of 'This Is for the Women Who Don't Give a Fuck' and CEO of 'This Is For The Women'—a company dedicated to empowering women to walk tall like an old cypress tree.
Each month we feature a member of our community. This isn’t any of that (air quotes) stand-up, pillar of the community glad handing you see in traditional organizations. This is someone who pledged to the Code of Conduct:
On October 21st, 2017, The Broad opened Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors, a special exhibition featured six of the acclaimed artist Yayoi Kusama’s kaleidoscopic installations. How do I know this since I don't live in LA?
Around 500,000 years ago, our early ancestors learned how to use fire. Paleontologists assume it all began when a lightning storm sparked a wildfire. The results? Cooked food from a cleared, and easily forageable landscape.
My favorite rapper of all time is Eminem. Early in his career, he was just so unexpectedly crazy; so undeniably insane, it was to the point of demanding respect. You may not like him, he said, but you will respect him.
Each day when I drop my 4-year-old daughter off at school, I kneel down to look her in the eyes. I tell her, “I love you, Sis. Tell me again, what makes you beautiful?” To which she replies, “How I love people and how I treat others.”
Brooklyncartoons (gen why's unfiltered selfie) is an Instagram account that focuses on the intersection of becoming an adult and the entrenchment of technology in our every days.
According to Karl Marx’s seminal text, The Communist Manifesto, a successful socialist society can only be born at the hands of a revolution. “In place of the old bourgeois society with its classes and class antagonisms,” he writes, “we shall have an association in which the free development of each is the condition for the free development of all.”
It’s a late autumn afternoon in Center City Philadelphia, and Michael and I are heading to the subway. I’m beat from work, my nose is running, and I can’t find a goddamn tissue anywhere in my corduroy jacket. Michael runs up ahead before pulling a huge potted palm plant out from under a pile of black garbage bags. “Oh wow!”
This past fall, the New York Times published just another piece about wealth. Entitled “What the Rich Won’t Tell You,” it is an exploration of how people in the top 1% relate to the fortune they’ve accumulated.
I travel to a lot of places that many people think are dangerous. When I told some coworkers that I was going to Egypt and Jordan, and probably Lebanon this past Spring, they asked me if I had read the travel warnings.
There’s a peculiar thing about weddings. For most of this one, I fought not to fidget. A part of me wants to balk at the simultaneous sobs and smiles that break out. The sobriety and sunshine compelled me to claw at my cuticles.
Open Instagram, click the magnifying glass in the lower left hand corner, and scroll. Among the makeup tutorials, recipe videos, baby animals, and memes, you might find a neatly manicured hand cupping an earth-colored mug filled with a matcha latte infused with unpronounceable adaptogenic herbs that, the caption claims, will lower stress hormones, ease menstrual cramps, and “restore balance.” Whatever that means.
Raising a family used to go something like this: get married, pop out a couple kids, buy into the American dream by taking out a mortgage, get a car or two, then work nonstop at 9-5 jobs for decades to pay it all off.
Had you told me seven years ago that today I would be an advocate for slow living and that I would have enough opinions on the pace of modern life to fill a book, host a podcast, and speak in public about the benefits of living a slower life, my first reaction would probably have been, “What’s a podcast?”
Clare Kelley is video chatting from the floor of her apartment in Washington D.C. Soft fall light fills her living room with a warm glow and a large green plant peeks into the right of the frame. On the other side, a wall-mounted fern, maybe a staghorn, appears to balance on her head like a delicate fascinator.
