A lot of people my age are like “oh my great grandma/grandpa turned 90 this year!” And it’s like holy shit my great grandpa was born in 1873. My great grandpa would be 145 if he were alive. My great grandma is exactly 140 years older than me.
My great grandma is 86. She is 58 years older than me. Yours seems more normal??
love is, being so upset I can barely breathe calling you and hearing your voice calm my fears hearing you smilingly tell me your secret compartment filled with affection finding it with your instruction there in the dusty recesses of the past you thought of future me hurt or craving you tucked some sweetness away for a rainy day i love you, this says to me I thought of you then and I thought of you now of a future when I might have the thing to make you smile if only for a second, if only for a bite I wanted to be ready to bring you delight
i don’t know why you love me, most days Most nights too but please don’t ever stop or I don’t know what I’ll do
when you hit the point in your writing where you can see parallels between scenes and characters and plots and it’s great because it LOOKS like you’re being really smart and making all these connections like some omniscient puppet master but really you have no control over it and you’re just sitting at your laptop like
You will love parts of your writing that other people overlook, or actively dislike. At the same time, others will find themselves in your work in ways you don’t expect.
People’s favourite parts might be those you struggled with most. Ones you considered deleting.
I hope he wins the lawsuit, a police officer was finally doing the right thing and they penalize him for not being a racist monster!
his name is stephen mader and not only did he refuse to shoot, he actively wanted to help the man (ronald ‘rj’ williams) because he could tell that he was only acting out because of mental illness. rj williams was suicidal and holding an unloaded gun and, while mader didn’t shoot him, a fellow officer (ryan kuzma) did and murdered him on the spot. here is the source and here’s to hoping rj williams gets justice
“Saying the words ‘Just shoot me’ sent up the red flag that he was just trying to harm himself and no one else … That’s what made me make my decision. He needed help”
I hate this fucking world. The guy was actually trying to do his job by actually desculating the situation the right way (desculating these days apparently just means shoot them) and was fired for “failing to eliminate a threat.”
HE WON THE LAWSUIT AND GOT $175,000
I needed something to make me not lose complete hope in humanity today. This was it.
Creative Writing Professor at a former college: Welcome to creative writing! By the way,
you will not write fantasy, ghost stories, pranormal, or science fiction
in this class, as this is a creative writing course.”
What the ever loving fuck is with “creative” writing professors who think that speculative fiction of any stripe ISN’T CREATIVE?
I still remember my own creative writing teacher telling me this because he saw the Terry Pratchett book on my desk and got this smug smirk on his face like “aha, gotcha”. He had the nerve to pick it up and call it “popularist fiction”, like somehow being popular and easily accessible made it less inherent in intellectual value.
I had it in my back pack because I did my final thesis on the evolution of mythology and folk tails into fantasy and sci-fi and the societal importance of telling stories (before anyone asks, no I don’t have it, I lost it when I moved continents), and I used Terry Pratchett because there wasn’t a single humanitarian issue the man did not touch on.
Which I told him. And then he kind of floundered and went “ah, well but, it’s…well I mean it’s not exactly high brow”, like neither the fuck was Shakespeare or Dickens you self-important turnip. Dickens was literally selling his stories by the chapter. He was the popular author of his time. Shakespeare was too, he fucking made up words and phrases all the time because the language he needed to express himself didn’t exist in the way he needed it too.
Intellectual elitism is nothing more than a hold over from class warfare and the belief that only certain people should get to be truly educated. And it needs to be smashed.
My name is Kelsey Juliana and I’m suing the United States government
for causing and accelerating the climate change crisis. I’m 22 years old
and I’ve been a climate activist for more than half of my life.
I know that young people like me, and others who have yet to be born,
have a right to a safe climate system. The constitution guarantees all
Americans the right to life, liberty, and property. But how is anyone
supposed to live a life of freedom amid a climate crisis? My own
government is violating my constitutional rights by its ongoing and
deliberate actions that cause climate change and it’s not right.
I, along with 20 other young people from around the country, filed a lawsuit against the federal government in 2015, called Juliana v. United States.
We’re not asking for money. Instead, we’re asking the court to order
the government to develop and implement a National Climate Recovery Plan
based on the best available science.
This plan should end the reign of fossil fuels and quickly
decarbonize our atmosphere so that we can stabilize our climate system
before it’s too late.
The longer we go without climate recovery, the more we risk allowing our climate to spiral completely out of control.
And the climate is spiraling out of control, no matter how many
politicians claim we’re experiencing normal fluctuations or, worse, a
“hoax.” All of the expert witnesses in our lawsuit say that we are
currently—already—in the “danger zone” and an “emergency situation” with
only 1°C of planetary heating. Allowing the planet to heat up any more
is not safe for our species, as well as so many others. And according to
the Trump administration’s most recent environmental impact statement,
the planet could heat as much as 7°F before the end of this century. We
cannot allow this to happen because we simply will not survive.
We originally filed our lawsuit against the Obama administration.
That administration tried to have the case dismissed, but the judge
ruled in our favor and found that we should be allowed to go to trial.
In 2017, the Trump administration inherited the lawsuit and it has
done everything in its power, employing every conceivable tactic, to
deny my fellow plaintiffs and me our right to present our case in court.
This administration is so fiercely attempting to silence our voices.
At this point, every level of the federal judiciary—the U.S. District
Court, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, and the Supreme Court—has
denied the Trump administration’s efforts to have the case thrown out.
Yet it will not halt its efforts to avoid standard legal procedures and
confront us, the nation’s youth, in court.
Our trial is officially scheduled to begin on October 29, 2018 in Eugene, Oregon.
What we’re asking for could change everything.
My fellow plaintiffs and I want you with us as we head into the
courtroom to confront the United States government for knowingly
violating our constitutional rights. Supporters will hold rallies in
every state around the country, so if you can’t be with us in Eugene, find your local rally here.
Get regular updates by following @youthvgov on social media.
I offer you all, another tale of my awkwardness. Brought to you by unwanted anxious memories at midnight.
I found a bell tied to a ribbon in one of the many “everything” drawers in my house. It’s a tiny bell, like the kind cats wear and a silk ribbon about long enough to tie around a wrist.
It made me think instantly of the bell my manager asked me to wear on my first job.
Okay, let me back up.
My first job was at a flower shop. And by first job, I mean my first I-applied-interviewed-got-called-back-and-get-paid-cheques kind of job, not the kind one finds on summer months on berry fields or farms or whatever.
So, I was an introverted curly haired thing standing at 5′2 and mostly terrified of people. Besides a gained two inches I haven’t changed a lot, but I have at least gotten louder. And that’s where the bell comes in.
I spent a lot of time quietly watering things, arranging things and tying intricate ribbons for bouquets. Sometimes for hours I wouldn’t say anything and more than once I would move and my manager, who had been with me for most if not all of that time would jump out of her skin at the movement.
“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick! How long have you been there?!”
The answer was always, “…a long time,” and did absolutely nothing to calm her down from her hyperventilating.
It was an uncomfortable situation for the both of us. I truly hate making people uncomfortable to begin with as their discomfort instantly doubles and lands on my shoulders somehow.
My manager’s solution?
“Wear this.”
One day she hands me a bell, on a ribbon. At this point I’m too young to ask any questions. I just do it, because I like my quiet job, flowers don’t give too much attitude and require very little social skills. I put the bell on and follow her directions to wear it at work as part of the uniform. After awhile I don’t even think about it.
Later, much later, I am at work again wrapping up a bouquet for an older lady who is watching me work with a growing smile on her face and when I hand her the flowers she laughs, as if I have done something delightful.
“Is your nickname kitty?”
The awkward bean in me has no reply. I am wearing a name tag, my name is visible and although it starts with a K it is not Kitty. Or even Katherine.
“…No?”
“Ah, too bad. With that bell you wear it certainly should be.”
She then proceeded to pat me on the head. Tap, tap. And left me a tip even though we are not allowed to accept any.
Another thing that happened at this flower shop was that a very, very, very attractive human walked into the shop looking rather frantic. Clearly he had forgotten an anniversary, birthday, apology bouquet or something. I was the only person in sight, but I knew, the moment I set eyes on him that there would be zero ability to speak if he so much as looked at me.
I proceeded to hide in the cooler in the back. And when I say hide, I mean I went full into the sliding door cooler behind the roses and the ordered corsages and waited until someone else helped him and got him out the door.
My manager found me about twenty minutes later because I moved and that damned bell gave me away. She laughed so hard she forgot to reprimand me for hiding.
…anxiety has been kicking my butt for a long time 😛
Ink Child Writing 