i’ve been thinking about writing in more books, a more tangible resource, or keeping a journal on paper. i don’t know what i should make of those urges, if anything - perhaps it’s just portland kitsch getting to me. all the walking down idyllic streets, pointing at houses that we think are charming. all this wandering is leaking into me like dipping your paintbrush into your drink. eating a handful of chocolate covered pretzels every morning. slamming back a pint of diet rite at 9am on your last day somewhere even though it’s too early, because it’s your last day.
being out here and surrounded by people i love who are nothing but glad to see me has kept me stable. i’m seldom away long, longer than six weeks. i long to return the favour with my own city, but to be honest, here, everywhere feels like it’s mine: the lazy sloe-gin traffic and salty ocean wash of los angeles; the mountains and curling gritty flats in salt lake, protective and restrictive; the gentle trickling mist of columbia gorge; the ice cream coloured wooden slat houses of portland. everywhere is filled with love and light, and it belongs to me. i’ve spent a lot of time in nature out here - finding a home in a city i know isn’t mine.
i have let my nails grow too long and left my suitcase in the living room out of comfort. rather, it’s like the concept of a place feeling like home, a concept noticeably lacking in europe for me, has become foreign - and nowhere makes me feel lonely. there is only the option to keep going. the renewed promises of my friends here being adults, starting funds to visit me and sleep on my couch, so filled with love.
there is more to be said, but i am heading to chicago at midnight. if my plane turns into a pumpkin i won’t be surprised.
i don’t think i’m quite ready to leave, but i wonder if i’ve ever been ready to leave anywhere.
An ex-police commander who oversaw the torture of more than 100 black men in Chicago police custody walked out of federal prison Thursday, after serving just three and a half years of his sentence.
Jon Burge left the minimum-security prison in North Carolina to report to a halfway house in Florida until his sentence officially runs out in February of 2015, the Chicago Tribune reports.
After the 66-year-old was convicted in 2011 of perjury and obstruction of justice for lying about police torture, several members of the Chicago City Council called for a reparations fund of $20 million – roughly the amount Burge and his “midnight crew” of detectives have cost Chicago taxpayers over the years in legal defense fees and settlements alone. Aldermen renewed those calls on Thursday, saying it’s time for the city to “make amends.”
Anthony Holmes was one of the victims Burge personally tortured – with methods including electric shock – into giving a confession to a murder he says he didn’t commit. Holmes, who is now pushing 70, spent 30 years behind bars as a result and has yet to see any compensation because the statute of limitations on the torture has run out.
“At least he’s got a pension,” Holmes said of Burge, according to DNAinfo Chicago. “We came out of there with nothing.”
Illinois Attorney General Lisa Madigan tried to strip Burge of his $4,000-a-month police pension, but couldn’t overrule a police pension board vote.
As Burge prepares to start his life again as a free man, In These Times took a look at how much the disgraced commander has cost taxpayers through the years
Never have I ever...written bed-sharing or fake dating
I haven’t written either of these before, surprisingly enough! Fake-dating is a tough trope for The West Wing anyway, where most of the romantic conflict comes from wanting to date but not being able to be seen dating, rather than the other way around. But bed sharing… that I can work with. :D
“Are you fucking serious?” Ginger
asked nobody in particular, staring at the squalid little hotel room
with amazed disgust. “This has got to be some kind of joke.”
Margaret elbowed past her to get
through the door, dropping her overnight case next to a television
that had been new when Ford was president. “Don’t look at me, your
boss made the arrangements. So if anything, I’m going to blame you
because you should’ve known better.”
The Raven and Other Poems. Edgar Allen Poe. Illustrated by John Rea R. Neill. Reilly and Britton Company. Chicago, 1910.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door— “‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.”
A/N: Final chapter! (Of part one) Yayyy! I hope you all like it! Please let me know what you think! I’m going to edit the whole thing and release it as one long fic. I definitely meant to make this chapter longer, but it’s kinda perfect just like this, so. I used lines from Jane the Virgin, The Last Five Years, and Nightingale by Demi Lovato. Please, please, let me know what you think! Pairing: Rafael Barba x Reader Word Count: 3,346 Synopsis: Final Chapter! Tags:@sergeantdodds, @la-devotees, @amelia-save-me, @evs14u, @cumberbabe92, @sweetsummertime99, @gibbs274, @standing-in-a-downpour
today: fly to seattle to help my dad with work, meet fellow procyon-er @galacticdrift for the first time(!)
tomorrow: help my dad with work, fly back to chicago, arriving home after midnight
thursday: fly to norfolk, virginia, meet fellow procyon-er @passiveaggressivegummybear in person for the first time(!), participate in a panel discussion at old dominion university on lgbt representation in podcasts (free and open to non-students btw, more info here if you happen to be in the area and want to say hi!)
friday: fly to columbus, ohio to spend time with family and, hopefully, get some sleep