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Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance — an annual observance that honors the memory of those whose lives were lost in acts of anti-transgender violence.

On this day, we’d like to share with you the words of Laverne Cox, who here discusses misogyny, trans-phobia, and racism, as well as the staggering statistics of violence against transgender people.

Today we honor those whose lives were lost to anti-transgender violence, and we work to raise awareness around the staggering rates of brutality that still face transgender people.

This year alone, the TVT Project reports that more than 200 people were murdered in acts of anti-transgender violence. #GLAAD #TDOR

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Sorry for the sudden influx of asks! We just got a bunch of them out of nowhere! Maybe we’ll stagger them a little more in the future. As a consolation: Here is a video we filmed over the summer! 

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This 104 Year Old Yoga Teacher Is Still Thriving!

Swami Yogananda Maharaj Ji is a truly amazing man. He was born on 14th September 1908 in India. Swami Ji started the path of yoga at the age of 17 and attributes his good health to his continued practice of “Sukshumavyayam” Yoga.

It is an ancient regime that combines subtle yogic warm-up with gentle stretching, breathing, relaxation and simple exercises.

Even at the staggering age of 104 years old, Swamiji’s faculties are still functioning at optimum level; he has been able to maintain a high level of mental clarity.

He has very good eye sight without the need of glasses and healthy teeth. He is an amazing  example of the true benefits of doing regular yoga and meditation. In his entire life, he has never taken medication and actually eats only once a day!

We can all learn a thing or two from his example of leading a healthy, very long lasting life.

along with diet and lifestyle too; here in western culture added sugar is in everything we eat, alcohol is a part of the culture, greed, disconnection to each other and nature etc… these all attribute to our declining health.

Arden Avenue

He told me

Never get old

As I walked him

To his car.

But therein

Lied the figment

Of choice

In our evening dark,

Or light

At the end of days

From the cancer

In his brain.

For it was an honest

And strangely sensible

Determination

Of his will

To insist

On working jobs

Well into

The time of death

Or season

Of fading sovereignty

As he staggered

In their yard

And caught himself

Against the shed

Where he stumbled

And found my clasp

As I lead him

To the front

Where the others

Caught me glaring

At the bags

Beneath his eyes

The color of

Ash and coals

In circles

From tested age

And disorientation

Or denial

And whatever else

Saw him through

As he pedaled off

Into night

Refusing

The help

We offered

But waving

As he made

His turn.

Yes,

It’s a real solution

For those who

Can wholly believe

Or readily accept

The meaning

Of value

Bargained from loss.

But the boy

Who lived inside

Had a sickness

Unlike his own -

Parallel

Eerily poignant

Yet synonymous

Only in theory

But in permanence

A mother’s burden

And through birthright

A call to love.

His eyes

Were the revelation

That it’s never

An empty shell

But a semblance

Of human awareness

In suffering

Without a cause.

He occupied

The deepest remnants

Of potential

For thriving life –

The steepest well

Of tragedy

And a proof

Of absent makers

If only to

Hate their existence

Or discern their

Baneful pride

To refute them

Altogether

And rally against

Their faith

To instill us

With the pain

Of knowing

We are alone

Helpless

But provided intellect

To render our senses hell

To convict our hopes so bold

And to confine our active truths

Of perceiving

This vicious lie

As gospel

As a holy vestige

Of some sacred

And grandiose nothing

That parades as

Unquestioned grace.

And through his

Fit of loneliness

And grunts of

Unspeakable rage

I swore

I could see no peace

In the kitchen

As we left

But instead

A prayer in the smile

Of the woman

Who held him willingly

Devotedly

And unabashed

Nestling him

Ever close

Crying

As she sorely knew

He was all

She ever had

And for him

A sole salvation

He sought

As a refuge

Of sorts

Outside

The aching manner

In which his soul

Was trapped

But keen

To imparted feeling

And imbued

With precious trust.

As I pulled off

Arden Avenue

I swore

I would find

My God.

Once more

For the sake

Of everyone.

To give Him

A piece of

Mind.

To tell Him

I was no longer

Afraid.

- J. Pigno

The surface of Mars looks a lot like

wasted effort and money and talent

You see a staggering number of

adults whose emotional development

is similar to that of a neurotic child

Of course, some may consider me

somewhat of a crackpot myself

for writing about all the weird stuff that I do

I wish I could say I was  

some kind of tantric sex master

but I’m a little too creaky

This is where you have to be even more careful

about easing someone into the movement

If a cigarette is in your mouth right now, finish it

maybe you can also practice sending love energy

to the only beatnik who can yodel

The vet sedated my cat so she could do blood work and now he’s just staggering around like a drunk panther trying to hunt 

Hannibal draws his attention back from where it sought, across the sea, to the child making sounds at him. It takes him a moment more to hear the words. To process them.

And only a moment more than that to slap the boy across his cruel mouth. Will staggers, eyes wide, and Hannibal’s lips curl in a snarl over clenched teeth.

“Get up.”

An extra-special early posting for Sarah, who requested a bit more Grecian goodness via commission - thank you for your support, lovely, and we sincerely hope you enjoy the chapter!!

apparently im like the only person who took all my neccesary classes myfreshman year (ie health phys ed and procom) insted of staggering them or waiting till my senior year whih was obviously smart of me becas now i rdont have to worry about them but also now i am stuck in classes with freshmen .Double edged sord

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