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I like this even more than the original, musically. James Blake sings it better, but this arrangement…yes.
While there is a lot of appropriate rage about Ferguson right now, the killing of John Crawford, III is getting less attention than it deserves. I put Shaun King’s tweets and history lesson on the matter in chronological order for easier consumption.
You really should be following Shaun King on Twitter.
this makes me cry
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Genesis: Warszawa, Poland. August, 1944.
Before Erik became Magneto, before Magnus became Erik,
his name was Max Eisenhardt, which he’d rarely enjoyed
unless spoken in the curt, weary baritone of Jakob, his father.
At age seventeen, he’d been forced to work as a Sonderkommando,
where he and a unit of fellow Jews were responsible for the disposal
of those that had been executed. No one knew, however,
that he had already been delivered to the chamber, along with his family.
The lone survivor, he had crawled his way out of the mass grave from which
his beloveds would not rise. He could still taste the soil on his tongue
as he and his unit worked quietly, transporting burnt bones and dried skin
to the makeshift burial grounds, sometimes restraining their vomit,
a few times failing. He did not understand how or why he’d survived.
His sanity was stretched thin, by the torturous olfaction,
the stubborn stain of memory:
the night he and his family had been dragged to the Warsaw Ghetto,
after having fled from their native Germany, his father Jakob
quietly gathered his wife and children around him,
his voice a lather of hush, and asked them to remove the small pieces
of jewelry they had hidden in their pockets. One by one, he asked his beloveds
to hold their metallic item in their palms, and whisper the story of when (and why)
he had given it to them. He absorbed their recollections as if noon sun through
windowpane. Finally, he took the items and swallowed them.
The process of ingestion was slow, methodical. Holy. Young Max felt as if they were all
savoring the swallow with Jakob, willing the gifts down his stretching throat.
These moments will not be taken, he said. We will go, but they will remain.
Before he’d ever declared war on humankind, before he’d realized he
had memorized the six digits branded onto his arm, he could recall the exact
moment he had actually gone mad. It was the night before he escaped
Warszawa, and he had crawled through the darkness in search of the grave
in which his family had been laid. He could smell them. He could smell
what his father had promised would remain. Kneeling at the grave,
he held out his hands. His palms eyed the dirt. His instinct guided him,
and with his eyes closed he could feel them…they were rising
toward the surface. He then opened his eyes to behold them:
his sister’s ring, his mother’s necklace, his own watch, slowly twirling
in the moonlight as if of their own volition. He marveled at their levitation.
He watched them dance. He then pocketed them, running,
forcing his shattering mind to leave his beloveds to their own quiet.
Anonymous said: So a cop, a racist, and a murderer walk into a bar. And that's just the first guy.
I get this joke.
he is a got damn bat and i find that to be amazing. DONT LET NOTHING STOP YOU MY NIGGA KEEP DOIN WHAT YOU DOIN!!!
don’t lie this mothafuka is daredevil
I think he and Toph Beifong could be friends.
If Stuntmen from the old movies don’t have your full respect then I just don’t know what to say to you
l tried really hard not to reblog this
Yeah, it is indeed really hard not to reblog a fucking thing.
Can we all agree that the man in the first gif is the manliest man in the world?
Are we just going to all silently acknowledge that the last guy is clearly dead and that we just saw him die.
HOLD UP FOR A SECOND
ALL OF THESE GIFS ARE ONE MAN
THE SINGULAR BUSTER KEATON
WHILE FILMING THE GENERAL
HE SNAPPED HIS NECK ON THE RAILROAD TIES AND WENT HOME AND ICED HIS BODY
AND CAME BACK FOR WORK THE NEXT DAY
HE ONCE GOT HIS HIP RIPPED OUT OF ITS SOCKET BY A MALFUNCTIONING ELEVATOR AND WAS DISAPPOINTED WITH HIMSELF FOR BEING INJURED
HE ONCE HAD TO FALL 100 FEET DOWN A WATERFALL INTO A NET
A STUNTMAN TESTED IT AND BROKE BOTH LEGS AND DISLOCATED HIS SHOULDER
BUSTER DID THE STUNT ANYWAY AND LANDED WITHOUT A SCRATCH
IN ‘THE HIGH DIVE’
BUSTER DID A TRICK DIVE THROUGH A CARDBOARD DECK THAT WAS CAMOUFLAGED TO LOOK LIKE THE REAL DECK
ONLY HE COULDN’T TELL FROM 100 FEET UP WHERE THE CARDBOARD STOPPED AND THE REAL DECK STARTED AND THERE WAS ONLY LIKE A THREE FOOT MARGIN FOR ERROR
AND WHEN HE HESITATED A SUDDEN BREEZE LITERALLY KNOCKED HIM OFF THE DIVING BOARD AND HE HAD TO JUMP ANYWAY
AND HE MISSED THE REAL DECK BY LESS THAN A FOOT BUT HE MADE IT
IN THE SECOND GIF HE’S RECREATING SOMETHING THAT THE ACTUAL GENERAL PURSUERS HAD TO DO IN THE CIVIL WAR
IF HE MISSES THAT TIE
THE TRAIN WILL BE DERAILED AND HE WILL DIE IN THE EXPLOSION
IN THE THIRD GIF AN ENTIRE HOUSE IS FALLING HE HAS ONE TAKE AND IF HE HAS NOT DONE THE CALCULATIONS CORRECTLY HE WILL BE CRUSHED
HE HAS AN INCH-WIDE MARGIN ON EACH SIDE
AND THE HOUSE LITERALLY BRUSHES HIS LEFT SHOULDER ON THE WAY DOWN
YOU CAN SEE HIS LEFT ARM JUMP BECAUSE HE’S FLINCHING FROM THE PAIN
THAT LAST GIF
HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MAKE THAT JUMP
HE WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO FALL AND THEY HADNT PLANNED FOR IT
BUT HE SURVIVED
BUSTER KEATON SURVIVED 100% OF THINGS THAT WOULD HAVE KILLED LESSER MEN INCLUDING WWI, TORNADOS, HOUSEFIRES, ALCOHOLISM, BROKEN NETS, CRUSHING DEPRESSION, THE DEPRESSION ITSELF, THE MCCARTHY WITCHHUNTS, THE END OF SILENT CINEMA, AND ABOUT 900 MORE OF THE STUNTS YOU SEE ABOVE
BUSTER LIVED TO BE 70 YEARS OLD
FATHERED LIKE FOUR KIDS AND EIGHT GRANDKIDS
HE CAME OUT THE OTHER SIDE OF ALL THAT
THINKING THAT LIFE WAS GOOD AND PEOPLE WERE WONDERFUL
BUSTER KEATON IS NOT JUST A STUNTMAN
HE IS A GODDAMN SAINT
BUSTER KEATON’S PARENTS WERE PART OF A TRAVELING SHOW.
THEY WERE ACROBATS.
THEY TOOK BABY BUSTER UP HIGH IN THE AIR WITH THEM.
THEY DROPPED HIM.
LUCKILY SOMEONE WHO WAS STANDING UNDER THEM CAUGHT BABY BUSTER.
THAT MAN WAS HARRY HOUDINI.
HARRY HOUDINI SAVED BUSTER KEATON’S LIFE.
if you don’t think that’s the coolest shit you can get right out.
This has a lot of all-cap sentences. But also lots of cool info. I’m probably writing a poem soon.
Here is a side by side comparison of how The New York Times has profiled Michael Brown — an 18 year old black boy gunned down by police — and how they profiled Ted Bundy, one of the most prolific serial killers of all time.
This is a big win for anti-rape activists, many of whom have been touting the necessity of an “affirmative consent” standard for years. California Gov. Jerry Brown (D) has the next month to sign the bill into law. If he does, schools across the state would be required to define consent before engaging in sexual activity as an “affirmative, conscious, and voluntary agreement” or risk losing state financial aid funding.
Poetry beckoned to me from the start by its not putting humans above other subject matter.
Bowing plus looping plus Coldplay. Coming along okay in the first week of trying this out. Documenting my progress, errors allowed.
The last words said by Black youth murdered by policemen.
this is so powerful
Bless them and their beautiful spirits
Go ahead and complain about something today. I dare you.
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Sometimes someone we love dies before their body does. A failed suicide doesn’t change the fact that the moment came when leaving was a decision to finally act upon. The failure is sometimes a blessing for the person, and sometimes it’s just a delay. Does your heart hurt less when their body breathes on, defiantly? Is there hope in the pill swallower’s miscalculation? In the blade wielder’s imprecision? In the bullet missing its mark? For me, it can feel eerie speaking to someone that wouldn’t be here had they had their way. But in my world, eerie is also beautiful. You know what a morning feels like to me? It feels like a dozen people in my personal life that decided today wasn’t the day, though it could have been. Though tomorrow they may feel it should have been. But it wasn’t. Perhaps that, too, is a miscalculation. But the morning brings the miscalculation I am grateful for. Who did I send my love to today? Who needs it without my knowing? Who might my five minutes of time move them to delay their exit? I’ve no idea. That’s the whole thing about leavers. We, the left behind, often tell each other just as much: we’d had no idea.
Ancient moon priestesses were called virgins. ‘Virgin’ meant not married, not belonging to a man - a woman who was ‘one-in-herself’. The very word derives from a Latin root meaning strength, force, skill; and was later applied to men: virle. Ishtar, Diana, Astarte, Isis were all all called virgin, which did not refer to sexual chastity, but sexual independence. And all great culture heroes of the past, mythic or historic, were said to be born of virgin mothers: Marduk, Gilgamesh, Buddha, Osiris, Dionysus, Genghis Khan, Jesus - they were all affirmed as sons of the Great Mother, of the Original One, their worldly power deriving from her. When the Hebrews used the word, and in the original Aramaic, it meant ‘maiden’ or ‘young woman’, with no connotations to sexual chastity. But later Christian translators could not conceive of the ‘Virgin Mary’ as a woman of independent sexuality, needless to say; they distorted the meaning into sexually pure, chaste, never touched.
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