the whole world is watching

On another summer night, her feet are tangled with yours.
Somewhere above you, the moon is smiling.
You look into her eyes and brush the hair out of her eyes, and you smile too.
She lets you drown for a few moments before she asks, How does this end?

You kiss her forehead and say, Like this night, without a whisper, without a leaf stirring, without a star losing its light.
Your fingers dance around hers, and you say, Like the beginning, with a bang, with an explosion that started from nothing, with the whole world watching on.
Your lips are on her neck, and you say, Like a hurricane, without any notice, with the earth begging us to stop, without a single care.

She stares at the sky for eons before answering, Really?
You laugh, and you say, This is what loving you means.

mmm i feel like ive been different lately.. in the past few months i guess…. like a conscious change maybe but also more of a letting myself do what i subconsciously want without filtering more….. which has led to being more spontaneous and probably sillier but also happier….. and it still feels kinda like im being fake to myself and im not sure if i really am??? because why would i keep doing the excited things im doing if i didnt want to so i guess i do want to ….. but is that really me idk…. i guess i just wanna be more positive and happy to everyone and especially myself and if that means looking a lil silly and immature sometimes im ok with tht i guess???????

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WARNING: In this video, you will see a man shot to death from a distance of 50 to 100 feet.

I’m really, really sorry. I normally wouldn’t post something this graphic, but I feel that the world needs to understand what the people of Ferguson are dealing with.

The man who was killed, Kajiemi Powell, was obviously at least emotionally unbalanced (you can hear him shouting “shoot me” repeatedly at the cops after they draw their guns—which they do almost immediately, since, you know, people who steal two cans of soda are among the most dangerous of petty criminals), but you can see that he poses no obvious threat. They kill him while he’s merely pacing around their perimeter. There were other ways of dealing with this situation, but because the cops don’t value black lives, they didn’t care enough to even consider them. Hell, they exit the car with their guns drawn. Because he stole two sodas.

I don’t even know what to say about this. It’s awful. I didn’t want to watch it. But it needs to be seen to dismantle the “the cops’ lives were in danger” narrative. That narrative is quite clearly bullshit.

It goes without saying that unless you want to really lose your shit, you shouldn’t venture into the comment thread on this video’s Youtube page. There’s some really nasty racism going on over there.

10

The Night’s Watch is your house now. We are your brothers now.”

In one of the largest mass arrests in recent Boston history, the Boston Police Department cleared a park of activists with the 99 Percent Movement in the early hours of Tuesday morning, dismantling and destroying tents that had been set up on Monday. Startling footage shot by an onlooker shows members of Veterans for Peace, an organization of U.S. military veterans who oppose war, being arrested by members of the Boston Police Department, their flags — including the American flag — being thrown to the ground:

This could be a flashpoint for the Occupy movement. There is no way to frame this other than police brutality. Boston PD is still trending on Twitter, hours after the raid began. 

Arresting protesters does nothing but strengthen their resolve and grow their numbers. We are everywhere. We will not forget.

what if whenever teddy really missed his dad he got pictures of remus and formed himself to look more like him

anonymous asked:

tell me about London?

London is haunted like no city. Below the visible carapace, stone and steel and glass, there’s the buried sediment of lives, inch under mortal inch, bone-riddled and apocalyptic: city of punk and pea-soup fog, Blitz city of blasted husk-houses and brickdust, industrial city of blackening smog and infernal engines and hunger, cursed city of fire and plague where the bells tolled for death without end, Roman city razed by Boudicca and built again higher. 

London is grey—a rough alchemy of stormlight and brumedark, friars and ashes and fumes and gunpowder and drowsing grave-angels and newspaper pages and the shadows of a Rembrandt. From different aspects it’s high and proud-headed or crouched beastwise. In winter it’s dour with rain and the wind’s unslaked bite; in summer the sun bores through the Thames in lathes and planes of greenish-white, cleaves the water into jewel-flaws, cracking it to reeling brightness. A place for the crowning and killing of kings; and for too-tame pigeons.  

It’s a thousand cities quantum-flickering into view. The city of ancient abbeys and the White Tower, the medieval arches of Great St. Bart’s and lewd hulking gargoyles. The imperious city of clocktowers and Westminster and Chancery Lane barristers. The underground city of the Tube, with its thrumming warrens, humid reek of bodies crammed close, Sherlock Holmes blazoned on the wall-tiles at Baker Street. The afterdark city of all-hour newsagents and fox-screams and nightbuses, picturehouse lights and casinos, Hamlet treading the boards of the Globe, the call to prayer drifting down Whitechapel Road, birds bickering on Wormwood Scrubs Common, a conclave of candlelit barges on Regent’s Canal. 

The city of tough poetry and swagger: Heygate’s alien ruins, East End dark halls thundering grime’s pulse-jerk-drums like steel and fury, the syncopations and stairwells of Dawson’s Heights council estate, Brixton’s hectic markets amid dorsal ridges and dunes of concrete, the jagged steel-toed nostalgia of Camden backstreets. The city stained with old empire; and the city of new multitudes, three hundred languages.

London is mercurial, metamorphic, risen from ashes with a right hook of a look in its eye. It’s an unsleeping monument to survival and life’s fearsome bright burning, a vastness to contain all things; a creature of old scabrous heart and brave clamouring blood and silver tongue, defiantly singing.