Back when I was in university, I had an 11:00 AM lecture every Tuesday and Thursday whose assigned hall was right across from the dormitory elevators.

Every lecture without fail, this girl would noisily stagger in five minutes late, dressed in pajama pants and a bathrobe, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lights and clutching an oversize travel mug full of coffee in a white-knuckled death grip… yet her makeup was always immaculate, to the point that you could tell she’d put a great deal of effort into it before leaving her room.

I’m not sure if it was performance art or what, but it’s always stuck with me.

Jan. 22 4:47 pm
Feb. 9   10:00 am

Weekly YA Spotlight: A selection of the most anticipated new YA novels released this week (24/08 - 30/08)

Black Dove, White Raven by Elizabeth Wein ✤ August 28th

Deliverance (Defiance #3) by C.J. Redwine ✤ August 26th

The Rule of Thoughts (The Mortality Doctrine #2) by James Dashner ✤ August 26th

Can’t Look Away by Donna Cooner ✤ August 26th

A Little Something Different by Sandy Hall ✤ August 26th

Sanctum (Asylum #2) by Madeleine Roux ✤ August 26th

The Revenge of Seven (Lorien Legacies #5) by Pittacus Lore ✤ August 26th

Ghost House (Ghost House #1) by Alexandra Adornetto ✤ August 26th

One Death, Nine Stories by Marc Aronson & Charles R. Smith Jr. (ed.) ✤ August 26th

Check out the rest of this month’s new YA releases here!

19th Century 'Elixir of Long Life' Found

The elixir of long life is a bitter, alcohol-heavy concoction — if you trust a 150-year-old bottle unearthed at a hotel construction site in New York’s Lower East Side.

The site, once a German beer garden and music hall called the Atlantic Garden, contained hundreds of liquor bottles dating from as far as the 1850s.

Among them, there was a greenish glass vial that was believed to help people cheat death.

Intrigued, the team behind the find at Chrysalis Archaeology tracked down the historic recipe in Germany. They found it in a 19th-century medical guide.

The ingredients included aloe, gentian, rhubarb, Spanish saffron, Zedoary (white turmeric), and one part water to three parts alcohol. Read more.

”In India, Shiva is often shown with his body a peculiar bluish white color. This is the result of smearing his person with ashes and soot, ashes being the symbol of death. Shiva is not only a destroyer in that he breaks up old forms and orders, but he is a creator in that, having dissolved an organism, he rearranges its parts and thus forms a new creature.”

- Manly P. Hal

I think people awaken originally to a spiritual dimension in their life in an incredibly wide variety of ways. Some people seem to open up to it through traumatic experiences, when people describe a near death experience or at a moment when they touch something much deeper than the traditional way that they thought about things. Other people arrived at that awakening through meditation or through religious experiences. Others arrive at it through sex or through drugs. There is a wide variety of ways.

I remember once lecturing in a hall back in the early 70’s. At that time most of my audiences were very young and they tended to wear white and they tended to smile a lot and wear flowers. At that time I wore beads and had a long beard. I recall that in the front row of my audience there was one woman who was about 70 and she had on a hat with little cherries and strawberries and things like that on it, false ones. And she was wearing black oxfords and a print dress and she had a black patent leather bag and I looked at her and I couldn’t figure out what she was doing in the audience cause she was so dissimilar from all the rest of the audience.

Our audiences were like a gathering of explorers clubs where we would come together and we would just share our experiences. So I started to describe some of my experiences, some of which were pretty far out and I looked at her and she was nodding with understanding, and I couldn’t believe that she could understand what I was talking about. I was describing experiences that I had had after using psychedelic chemicals, experiences that were very precious and far out. So I would try a little further out experience. I’d look over at her and there she was nodding away. I began to think maybe she had a problem with her neck that lead her to nod and maybe it had nothing to do whatsoever with what I was saying. And I kept watching and getting more and more fascinated and getting more and more outrageous in what I was saying and she kept nodding and nodding. At the end of the lecture I couldn’t resist, I just kind of smiled to her so intensely that she just had to come up and speak to me. And she came up and she said “Thank you so much. That makes perfect sense. That’s just the way I understand the universe to be.” And I said, “How do you know? I mean, what have you done in your life that has brought you into those kinds of experiences?” She leaned forward very conspiratorially and she said, “I crochet”. And at that moment I realized that the ways in which people arrive at spiritual understanding was certainly a much wider variety of paths than what I had anticipated. I had begun to think that my way was the only way, which seems to be a common illness of people who get into spiritual work.


Ram Dass, “Polishing The Mirror: How to Live From Your Spiritual Heart

Something to start your Morning or evening…Happy 11/11 :)

- Ghosts, Ghouls and Demons

- Origin: Celtic folklore, Breton folklore
Description: The Henchman of Death.

Ankou is the name of the spirit who collects the souls of the dead. An Ankou comes about when the last person in a calendar year dies in a parish. Their job, for the next year, is to guide the dead souls away from their bodies. There is more than one Ankou, as there is one for every parish of Brittany.

Ankou is described as a tall, haggard or skeletal figure with flowing white hair. The Ankou’s head is able to turn at a 360 degree angle, to symbolise its ability to see everything, everywhere. It is also at times seen as a dark shadow, one that wears what looks like an old hat.

The Ankou is said to drive a ghostly cart, and to stop at the houses of those who are about to die. It will knock on the door or wail – and sometimes these are also heard by the living. It will then lead the dead to the cart, and drive away.

There is no stopping Ankou. Death comes to us all.

Written by Nic Hume of APPI - Australian Paranormal Phenomenon Investigators
Put together by Ashley Hall

Photo: An Ankou carving that guards a cemetery.

You can also follow The Paranormal Guide at:
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I have known many gods. He who denies them is as blind as he who trusts them too deeply. I seek not beyond death. It may be the blackness averred by the Nemedian skeptics, or Crom’s realm of ice and cloud, or the snowy plains and vaulted halls of the Nordheimer’s Valhalla. I know not, nor do I care. Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat and stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame and crimson, and I am content. Let teachers and philosophers brood over questions of reality and illusion. I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.
—  Robert E. Howard, Queen of the Black Coast


I don’t know how I got here.
I don’t know if I fell.
I can’t see the moonlight clear,
Trapped in the bottom of a well.
Or maybe I’m in a box,
With no ceiling or thin walls,
Just an endless white paradox,
Of repetition in these halls.

I don’t know where I’ve been.
I don’t know where to go.
Perhaps I’ve committed sins,
Or maybe lost my soul.
Trapped between the sharpest stones.
Stuck under molten rock.
I can’t feel the wind now blown.
I can’t heal now nor atone.
The ice above me feels so fresh.
It would be nice if I could take a breath.
Caught between the wire’s mesh,
Dangling above the rope of death.

I don’t know who I am.
I don’t know who to be.
Buried under golden sands.
Washed up along the sea.
Its pointless to resist,
In this reality we create.
How to prove we exist?
Maybe we aren’t who we make.
Or maybe we have many forms,
All of which are one,
But unpredictable storms,
Come as consistent as the sun.

And the meaning of us all,
This I’ve learned to share,
I will no longer stall,
Because I know longer care.
So do just as you please, 
Without the consent of those,
Who demand your appease,
Because they fail to know,
That under shooting stars,
We are here on vacation,
And though it seems so far,
We’ll be at new destinations.
In another form.
Dressed as another one,
As unpredictable as storms,
But as consistent as the sun.

☽I am the moon☾: A homucifer mix since everyone has probably seen rebellion by now {Listen} {Art Source}

1.Secrets - Maria Mena //// 2.In the Hall of the Mountain King - Edvard Grieg //// 3.64 Little White Things - Cake Bake Betty //// 4.I Will Possess Your Heart - Death Cab for Cutie //// 5.Me and the Devil - Soap & Skin //// 6.Sweet Dreams - Emily Browning //// 7.Heart Shaped Box - Nirvana //// 8.Jesus Christ - Brand New //// 10.Dark Paradise - Lana Del Rey //// 11.Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeahs //// 12.Ghost - Little Boots //// 13.Wait for Me - Shiny Toy Guns //// 14.No Easy Way- Digital Daggers //// 15.Terrible Angels - CocoRosie //// 16. Wolf and I - Oh Land //// 17. Dark Doo Wop - MsMr

The Taj Mahal
- Tragic Deaths

- Ask a group of people to name a wonder of the modern world, and no doubt someone would say the Taj Mahal. This stunning piece of architecture, made entirely of white marble, is situated in Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India.

Do you know why the Taj Mahal was built? Did you know it is actually a mausoleum? Well let me tell you about it… it’s a love story.

Arjumand Banu Begum was born into Persian nobility. Her connections were extremely high, with aunty’s being Empresses and sisters marrying Governors.

In 1607, when she was just 14 years old, a political alliance was made, and she was betrothed to a 15 year old Prince, known as Shah Jahan. This boosted the families esteem even higher. Even though the Prince had two other wives before he married Arjumand, the honour was still great.

Five years later, their betrothal was finalised and they wed in 1612. The date of their wedding was selected by the court astrologers as being the most conducive to ensuring a happy marriage, and it appears those court astrologers were spot on! Arjumand went on to become the absolute love of Shah Jahan’s life!

They were not married for long before she was given the title Mumtaz Mahal – an extremely honoured title which means “Chosen One of the Palace”. Shah fell head over heels in love with Mumtaz! When he did wed again, it was said that he had no interest at all in his other two wives, and visited their bedchamber only to do the proper thing and procreate. Once one child was sired with each, he stopped visiting them. According to an official court recorder, his relationship with his earlier wives was nothing but the status of marriage. A direct quote being: “The intimacy, deep affection, attention and favour which His Majesty had for the Cradle of Excellence (Mumtaz) exceeded by a thousand times what he felt for any other.”

As their marriage continued, their love grew deeper. Poets frequently spoke of her beauty, her compassion and her grace. He trusted her so much that she was the only other person to have access to his imperial seal, and would influence him to be a better person to the poor and the unlucky in India.

Shah and Mumtaz were married for nineteen years, and chroniclers go to great lengths to speak of their love and the erotic nature of their relationship. In those nineteen years, Mumtaz gave birth to fourteen children. Sadly, seven of those children did not make it to adulthood. Even though she was frequently pregnant Mumtaz would travel with Shah and his entourage on all military campaigns.

Sadly, while giving birth to their fourteenth child in 1631, Mumtaz died from complications of childbirth. Shah went into a deep depression at her death, and locked himself away for an entire year to mourn her passing. By all reports he was inconsolable and the only person who managed to bring him back to the world was his eldest daughter. When Shah reappeared in front of his court, his hair had turned white, his back was bent, and he had aged at least a decade. Although he lived for over 30 years following Mumtaz’s death, he never recovered from it.

Shah would think of nothing but building a fitting monument to the memory of his beloved wife, and so, a few months after her death, he began planning the construction and design of a grandiose mausoleum and funerary garden.

It took twenty-two years to complete. Seventeen of those twenty-two years saw twenty thousand workmen employed on it daily. It is said that it took a fleet of 1000 elephants to transport the marble to the site.

When Shah passed away in 1666, his son Aurangazeb had him interred in the Taj Mahal, right next to his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal.

By Peet Banks from APPI - Australian Paranormal Phenomenon Investigators
Picpost by Ashley Hall 2013

Photo: The Taj Mahal.
Inset Left: Mumtaz Mahal.
Inset Lower: The tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal.

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Different Roads

These halls were death.

Death and corruption, poison in the walls.

Volke could feel it in his bones, in the grip of his hands, in the horrible tension that seeped down his spine. The walls were white, the floors too. A false clean. An illusion crafted to hide the evil in the air.

He was draped in the same falsehood, the length of a pale coat flaring behind his feet, taken from the back of a chair in an unattended office.

Few passed him in the hall, eyes sliding past. Unaware. Blind to everything but the false white.


Pale. Shadows in his face, almost gauntly blue.  

Looked cold. Small. 


Volke inhaled heavily, holding the air in until it burned in his chest. There was still a shudder in his hands when he exhaled, a dull horror roaring in his ears to see his father stretched so still, so…misshapen. 

His mouth was still bitter, but he’d already lost his stomach in the corner, so beyond able to bear the sight of this violation. To know that they’d tried to ruin papa, to take his strength, his defense, like it was not apart of him.

Papa wouldn’t be so broken for long. Volke already had the piece they’d tried to take away. A few moments, and they would be gone from this place, away from these halls of death.


Almost had it. The metal was already reattached to the shoulder socket, but the wrist still needed more work. 

Another hour, maybe two, and his father would be whole. Would wake in this bed free from poison, from control. He would rise with the strength of both hands. Would be alive. Would be better.

Volke fought the shake of his hands, clenching them briefly, focus forced through pain, and reached again, slim lengths of metal retreading shredded wires.

The last thing Fred Weasley remembered was the shudder of walls crumbling, the sounds of terrified screams from children much too young to be fighting a war, and a bright green flash of light. That was where everything had cut out. It was all white now, bright white walls that opened up to a blinding sky. He looked around, noticing that he was in the great Hall. At least it looked like the great Hall would if it had been painted white. He could see a figure coming towards him from the stage, as they drew closer he realized it was two people. Both of them had long ginger hair, both had bright blue eyes, they were identical in every way except their hair. One man had his tied back and the other let it hang loosely around his face. They looked familiar, Fred knew they were Weasley’s, knew they had to be his uncles, Molly’s brothers, who had been killed by death eaters during the first war.

“Freddy! Hello little nephew! I’m sure you don’t remember us, of course you wouldn’t. Too young when we died. I’m Gideon, this is Fabian.” He vaguely waved at the smiling mad at his side, with the tied back hair. They stood on either side of him, both throwing their arms around him. “Where am I? How are you here? ” Fred asked, looking around in confusion. He just wanted to get back to the battle, he knew his family would need help.

“Well, we’re here to take you….on” the twins looked at each other, clearly not expecting the confusion. “On? What’s "on” mean?“ The twins exchanged uneasy looks. How were they supposed to explain to their nephew that he was dead. "Oh… OH GOD’S! I’m dead? Oh, no. I’m dead” Fred choked on the last few words. His family, his friends, George! He didn’t was to leave them all. “How do I get back?” He looked at his uncles with desperate, pleading eyes. “I’m afraid you can’t, Freddy.” Fabian said. “You need to come with us, there are others who’d like to see you.” Gideon said. Others? Fred thought to himself. Who could possibly want to meet him on the other side?

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Fred silently followed his uncles out of the great Hall and into the bright grounds of Hogwarts. The colors almost blinded him after the blankness of the great hall. Out here the trees and grass were bright green, the sky and the lake, blue. Beautiful wildflowers scattered here and there added pinks and purples to the mix. All in all, Fred reckoned he’d never seen the grounds look more inviting, even during the spring months. As they walked further and further away from the school the landscape changed once again. Now it was all rolling hills and cloudless blue skies, a river was running peacefully through the scene, the water a bizarre shade of purple.

Up ahead he could see a large group of people, seemingly waiting for something. A bright flash of red hair had caught his eye and he stopped dead. Ginny could not be dead too, Harry would have never allowed it. How could she be here? As he drew closer, though, he realized it was not Ginny, but a woman with eyes so familiar he felt as though he was looking into Harry’s eyes. Suddenly, a long white beard was blocking his line of sight. He looked up into the bright sparkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, the man held his arms open, a smile on his face. “Fred Weasley, you extraordinary man, you.” Dumbledore said, pulling the boy into a hug. “Welcome to the beyond.” It always irked Fred, how cryptic his former headmaster was, but he couldn’t help the joy he felt at seeing the man again. Somehow he could could calm Fred’s nerves just by his mere presence. “Hello, Professor. It’s good to see you again.” Fred said as he released the hug. “Come, Mr. Weasley. There are others who would like to meet you.”

Dumbledore steered him around to face 4 smiling faces, two he knew very well, having fought along side them, and 2 he did not know at all, though he had an idea of who they were. The striking green eyes of the woman and the intense resemblance of the man, Fred knew these were Harry’s parents. “Fred, It’s so nice to finally meet you! Although it’s upsetting that you’re so young. I’m Lilly Potter and this is James, as I’m sure you’ve figured out.” She said. Fred smiled at the both of them, It wasn’t fair that he should meet Harry’s parents before the poor boy could. “Hello, Freddy. I’m a huge fan of your work.” James said with a smile. Sirius and Remus laughed and clapped him on the back. “Just in time, Foxglove. We’re in need of a fourth Marauder, what do you think Prongs? He’s as good a fit as any.” Sirius said. “They’re not ready for us, I daresay, Padfoot.” Remus chuckled. “Right you are, Moony.” James laughed.

“Moony? Padfoot? Prongs? You’re the Marauders? The creator’s of the Marauders Map?” Fred was in shock! All along the Maruaders had been right under his nose. He was disappointed at the waste of pure potential. The amount of pranks he could have pulled, if only he had known. But, Fred was home, with people who had been watching him for years, with his uncles and his former headmaster. Though he would miss his family, George especially, He could not help but be excited for what was to come. The “Beyond” was not ready for Moony, Foxglove, Padfoot and Prongs.

The Radium Girls

- Tragic Deaths

- “Radium Is Restoring Health to Thousands”, “Vita Radium Suppositories – For Restoring Sex Power”, “Radium Gets Those Dishes Clean”… Radium was treated like a wonder cure for just about any ailment, and even a few household chores, during the first quarter of the 1900s. Radium was being sewn directly into tumours and it was good at killing them, it was added to toothpaste to help bring out those pearly whites, it was even added to health spas to further their healing properties. It was added to tonics for all sorts of ailments and creams and make-up to further promote ones natural beauty.

Radium would soon be known to the public for what it is - an incredibly radioactive and lethal substance - but not before many illnesses and deaths were attributed to it.

Another use of Radium was for illuminating watch faces, clocks and equipment panels. During World War I soldiers fighting in the front lines found that their watches were next to useless. Easily dropped and broken the watches had a relatively short life span, but another fault in them would see the lifespan of the soldier trying to read one in the dark potentially shortened. In order to read their watch at night a soldier would need to light it up in order to read it. This proved a problem as it could give a soldiers position away to the enemy. Something needed to be done.

Radium mixed with zinc sulfide and a little glue became luminous paint. When applied to a watches hands and face the dull glow allowed it to be read in the dark, but the glow was not bright enough to be seen from any real distance. It was a perfect solution for those fighting in the trenches.

The amount of Radium painted onto these watch faces was minuscule and posed no health problems for those wearing them. However, those who applied the paint to the watches were not so lucky…

From 1917, thousands of women in the US and Canada were hired to apply luminous paint to watch faces and other items. They were never told how to safely handle the compound as they were never told it was unsafe. With all of the therapeutic treatments using Radium and the combating of diseases they had no real reason to question it.

These women dial painters were expected to paint approximately 250 watch faces a day, each watch face taking several strokes from a very fine tipped camel hair brush coated with the luminous paint. However, every few strokes a few brush hairs would pull away from the point, losing the shape of the tip. Supervisors encouraged the women to re-point the brushes with their lips and tongues, taking the brush between their lips and slowly drawing it away from the mouth, fixing the tip. This would of course cause the luminous paint to come in contact with the lips and tongue, and even ingested.

Once again this was never questioned as the dial painters were always told it was safe, regardless of the fact that scientists and higher ups used safety equipment – lead screens, special gloves and avoided exposure themselves. The scientists and owners of the plant knew of the potential hazards.

Sometimes the dial painters would apply the paint to their nails, teeth, hair and clothing if they were heading out on the town for the evening. This would literally cause them to radiate light and would have made for quite a show. However, all of this was killing them slowly, as they were soon to discover.

Later the women would start to suffer from radiation sickness. The most common symptom of the sickness for those working at the factories was fracturing and necrosis of the jaw. Teeth would become loose and fall out, severe swelling would blow the jaw out of proportion and severe agony and weakness were also present. Dentists and doctors in Orange, New Jersey, began to notice a massive jump in the amount of disease and damage found in the jaws of young, local women. It soon became apparent what the common link was – they had all worked at the United States Radium factory.

In some cases the jaws were so far gone pieces of the bone could be picked out of the mouth cavity by hand. Later studies would show the jaw bones were so radioactive that when placed on photographic film there was sufficient energy to leave an imprint.

An investigation was carried out but findings were hidden, fabricated or outright lied about. US Radium and defence contractors were not about to let this get out. In some instances women who were very obviously sick were given clean bills of health by corporation hired doctors. Worse than this, however, was when their sicknesses were blamed on syphilis, which ultimately tarred the name and reputations of these, in many cases, lethally sick women.

In the end one of the factories dial painters, Grace Fryer, decided to sue. It took her two years to find a lawyer who would take on the case and then another few months for the courts to begin the process. Five women all up would join in the suit but by the time of their first appearance two were bedridden, and none could take the oath – they were too weak to raise their arms.

US Radium was dragging its heals. At one point the case was adjourned several months as several US Radium witnesses were on holiday in Europe!

In the end the case was settled out of court. Each of the five women, now dubbed the “Radium Girls” - Grace Fryer, Katherine Schaub, Edna Hussman, Quinta McDonald and Albina Larice - were awarded the today equivalent of $137,000, and $8,500 per year for the remainders of their lives. All medical and legal fees were also covered.

Luminous radium paint was continued to be used on watch dials into the 1960’s, however, using much safer procedures.

It is not known how many women (and men) died as a result of working with the self luminous paint. It was also sold as a do it yourself at home kit….

By Ashley Hall - The Paranormal Guide 2015

Main: Watch dial painters.
Left: Radium Jaw.
Right: Advert for “Undark” the luminous paint these dial painters were using.

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flying, fluttering, falling.
the house calls to me, caresses me
seeping into the marrow of my bones
filling my ears with poison and
my heart with shards of glass.

madeline, madeline, the ravens cry
they are swirling over my head
a flurry of fanged feathers, 
like a funeral shroud in black 
to drape over my bed.

ten score years and nine have I
walked through the halls of this house.
lead by those ghostly white spectres, 
following the echoing rhythm of fate-  
the death-march of the Ushers.  

violent, vicious, voracious. 
the teeth tear at my nerves and sinew
remaking my blood for their own purposes 
to carry the whispers of ruination 
and the promise of certain destruction. 

madeline, madeline, the past Ushers cry
their cold fingers are claiming me 
telling me, soon, madeline, you shall join us 
and the funeral shroud descends
my flame growing ever dimmer. 

the walls of the house think 
to open up, and swallow me whole,
to devour my soul and steal my life
but I am an Usher, and after all- 
I am not named the magnificent for nothing.

—  madeline of the house of usher. [ k.a ]
“I’m so mad at you miss!”

prompt: #2 - “I’m so mad at you miss!” -Requested

Characters - Scott x reader

“I’m so mad at you miss!” Scott’s voice traveled throughout the halls, echoing off the white-coated walls, making you giggle to yourself. With a few foot steps Scott stood in front of you, his dark eyebrows set into a flur. In his left hand the empty cupcake box. 

“Tell me this wasn’t you.” His lip curling into a pout with his big, brown eyes starring directly into you. 

“It would.” You smile, as he plotted Liam death inside his head. “But I’d be lying.” with his smile now gone, You smile widely, blowing him a kiss soon afterwards.

“I will never forgive you for this.” He frowns, walking towards the door taking the handle, but turning around to look at you. His finger pointed at you he quickly mumbled, “This means war.” Before grumpily walking away.

We seek justice – not an abstract justice, but a living, breathing, tangible justice. Justice is a living Mike Brown. Justice is a playing Tamir Rice. Justice is Sandra Bland at her new job. Justice is Rekia Boyd with her family. Justice is Mya Hall with her friends. Justice is no more death.
We did not start this. We have never started any of it. They kill(ed) us. They creat(ed) systems to harm us. We did not start this. We are fighting to end it.
We are, and have always been, more than our pain. We will win.

Ferguson, MO | November 25, 2014
A riot police officer wades into a cloud of tear gas as numerous police units respond to the destruction of a police car parked outside the Ferguson City Hall.
Angered protesters marched past downtown Ferguson, a night after riots and destruction followed the announcement of the grand jury’s decision not to indict white police officer Darren Wilson in the death of unarmed black teen Michael Brown.
Yesterday President Obama met with civil rights leaders and law enforcement officials to discuss how to respond to the racial unrest in Ferguson, and the wave of anger it generated toward police across the country. Obama said that he would tighten standards on the provision of military-style equipment to local police departments, though administration officials stated that the vast majority of military-style equipment strengthened local policing, regardless of the Ferguson police department’s for heavy-handed use of such equipment.

#Photojournalism #reportage #documentary #civilrights #ferguson #news #michaelbrown

Made with Instagram
The 4 Options For Female Characters Of Arrow

1. Be attached to a penis for the rest of the show and not have any plots that don’t include a guy

2. Disappear and never be heard of again (Helena, Sara, Katana, McKenna Hall, Cupid)

3. Death (Laurel, Shado, Moira, Sara, Amanda Waller)

4. Or mentally/physically get tortured (Nyssa, wait… ALL. OF. THEM.)