it's not too much it's journalism


early morning pages about the Sun🌻


Michael Woodmansee - Teenage Cannibal

Sixteen-year-old Michael Woodmansee of South Kingstown, Rhode Island didn’t look like a budding psychopath - with his thick glasses, obese frame, and shy demeanour, Michael could easily pass for a square peg amongst his more popular classmates. Unbeknownst to anyone around him, Michael nurtured graphic fantasies involving death and rape, and considered murder easy to get away with. On May 18, 1975, he made his deadly fantasies a reality.

Five-year-old Jason Foreman was playing with a group of boys at the top of the street Michael Woodmansee lived on when he heard his mother calling him home. Jason lived on a corner, and Woodmansee’s house was opposite the path Jason would have taken home. His mother last recalled seeing Jason walking through the front gate to the house, until she turned to answer the phone. Jason never walked through the door. His disappearance would baffle police for over eight years.

It was 1982 until a break in Jason Foreman’s case, and came about as a result of Woodmansee attempting to kill another young boy. The now twenty-three-year old had lured a teenage paperboy into an empty house and drugged him with alcohol. After an unsuccessful attempt at strangling the boy, Woodmansee gave up and left him for dead in the house. Instead, the injured boy went home and told his father about the incident, and who did it. The victims father then went to Woodmansee’s home and beat him up, after which Woodmansee did something incredibly stupid - he called the police and reported the assault.

At the police station Woodmansee tried to excuse the attack on the paperboy as ‘losing his temper’, but officer conducting the interview had a hunch that Woodmansee was responsible for the disappearance of Jason Foreman seven years before. After continuous prodding Woodmansee broke down and confessed to killing the child, and admitted he still had much of his body in his bedroom. Before a police unit searched the house, Woodmansee remarked that they would find a journal written by him in his room, but its contents were pure fiction.

In Woodmansee’s bedroom police discovered a number of gruesome relics; Jason Foreman’s skull, coated in high-gloss shellac. The little boy’s hip and rib bones, picked clean of flesh. Crude drawings of children being stabbed and decapitated. And the aforementioned journal, the contents of which were deemed too disgusting to be discussed in court. Though its never been reproduced in its entirety anywhere, the journal was said to contain graphic descriptions of Jason’s murder, his dismemberment, and how Woodmansee disposed of his body by boiling it over a stove and eating the cooked flesh.

In 1983 Michael Woodmansee was found guilty of second-degree murder and sentenced to forty years in prison. His relatively low sentence was the result of a plea bargain with the prosecution to ensure none of the horrific details of the murder were discussed in court, as the police were fearful about copycat crimes.

In a shocking move by corrections, Woodmansee was released from prison after serving 28 years of his 40 year sentence. Jason Foreman’s father has publicly declared his intention to murder Woodmansee for his crime against Jason.

anonymous asked:

I relate to Dylan so much it's starting to scare me. The suicidal thoughts the self harm. What he wrote in his journal. I relate to Eric in the sense of being angry and silently screaming and needing someone to intervene because I can't stop myself. I don't reach out because no one will listen. No one takes it seriously until it's too late

See, this is one of the pitfalls of spending too much time resonating and connecting in so deeply with the boys. We run the risk at the detriment of our own mental health. And let me tell you, it happens to us all - myself included. :) 

To paraphrase Brooks Brown when he was on Tumblr in 2013:
“You’re not getting inside their head, you’re allowing them to get inside yours.”

We need to remember that though we understand the boys so deeply as a mirror to our own selves, we are not those boys.  Our destiny does not have to end up the same way.

It sounds to me like you need to take a break from Columbine and the TCC tag for now. It is time to refocus your energies on taking care of yourself. It’s time to step back and do some healing.  

 If there is no one in your immediate world that you feel will really listen to you in a serious manner then I would encourage you to check out these resources listed below.  I know many Millennials don’t like calling someone on the phone or have anxiety with it - so optionally, please text chat with a counselor!   

We all witnessed your anonymous message in a bottle here. So, please know that all of us are aware that you’re going through something tough and you feel in over your head.  We are here.  

Please take the first step and connect with someone who can help you sort through this hard time. <3

Whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to go through it alone.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is a United States based service available 24/7/365. You do not have to be thinking about suicide to call. The Lifeline supports anyone struggling emotionally. If you need someone to talk to, reach out: 1-800-273-TALK (8255).

You can also chat with a counselor online.

Dylan and Eric don’t want you to add to their casualties list all because you’ve empathized and aligned so deeply with them. Your life matters. ❤️

Steven’s Dream: An observation Part 1

After watching the episode “Steven’s Dream” in Steven Universe, I noticed some things regarding the Pink Palanquin and its surrounding area which is now making me question the scene of Steven’s dream earlier in the episode.

Let’s begin with the scene where Steven and Greg are at the actual Pink Palanquin, starting with them finding it after hearing Blue Diamond’s voice.

Note how the Pink Palanquin looks. The amount of greenery growing over it in certain places. How visible the legs of it are. Where the door of it is facing. The rock formation behind it. Where the greenery stops and there is nothing but dirt. Finally on the horizon, the dead tree behind Blue Diamond. You can also just make out some other rock formations and possible trees out on the horizon.

Here’s a close up. Again, note how the Pink Palanquin and its surroundings look.

Later in the scene, we see Steven is trying to save his dad after being whisked away aboard Blue Diamond’s ship by Blue Diamond herself.

Again, note how the Pink Palanquin and its surroundings look. Also, the green tree just below Steven at the bottom of this scene.

Here’s a close up during the part in which Steven unfortunately fails to save his dad. Again, note how the Pink Palanquin and its surroundings look.

Before we get to the part of Steven’s dream, I want to take a moment to point out the illustration of the Pink Palanquin in Buddy Buddwick’s journal for comparisons.

The Pink Palanquin doesn’t look too old. There isn’t as much greenery growing over it in certain places. The legs of it are more visible. The door of it is seems to be facing the same direction with curtains covering it. There’s more greenery with little to no dirt on the ground it seems. The top of the Pink Palanquin doesn’t look the same but that could be Buddy’s interpretation which means the illustration might not be 100% accurate.

Finally, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Steven’s dream…

External image

When you compare this to the actual Pink Palanquin and its surroundings that Steven and Greg go to, some things are the same but there’s also some noticeable differences. The rock formation behind the Pink Palanquin is in the right place. The dead tree on the horizon is right where it should be but the rest of the horizon looks out of place. The green tree I mentioned earlier is still to the right but looks too close to the Pink Palanquin. The Pink Palanquin itself is tilting the wrong way. Even the door to it is facing the wrong way. There isn’t as much greenery covering it (there’s even less in Buddy’s illustration). The legs of it are more visible (similar to Buddy’s illustration). Finally, the ground is covered in greenery (no dirt to be seen which again, is similar to Buddy’s illustration).

This is raising all sorts of questions now which I’ll be going into greater detail in my next post (here). In the meantime, put those thinking caps and tin foil hats on.


Day one-

Walking just begun

Without a camel or a horse

It’s as easy as it can be

Day two-

Sands attack to my feet

To my eyes to my mouth

Nights do not come

Day three-

or four

I’ve already forgot

I need a God to keep me up

A day-

Like any other

No place to go

Everywhere is another

Sands are troubled

they are moving here and there

and they laugh at my hunger

One more day-

The path seems easier

My mind follows my feet

All I expect is to dream

All I think is death drinking the sands

A piece of air comes full of dust

Day first-

Music comes from my empty flask

Making everything a blur

And drinkable.

I don’t know what got me first. If it was the way you suddenly became so uninterested in me- in us, or if it was the fear of losing you so quickly. Unlike you, I am unafraid of setting my pride aside. I’m not scared of love like you are. The fear of losing you almost killed me. I almost completely lost myself in the oceans of your eyes, in your embrace, in our hour long talks in my car while chain smoking the things that kill us. We almost let the love kill us. Not really the love, more of the fear. The fear of loving. Whether it be too much, too soon, or not enough, not the “right” way. We almost let the fear of our growing love kill us. Inevitably, we did. Or, I should say, you did. You let your mind wander away from me and us and our plans. God forbid you find love in someone actually worth loving. God forbid you’re vulnerable.

anonymous asked:

Hey so my mom went through my phone "secretly"(even though it's actually very obvious) and now I'm really scared. If it's not too much trouble could you write a small fic where Laurens keeps a diary or something and he finds out his dad read it?Thank

Hey bby! <333 I’m so sorry your mom invaded your privacy like that. That’s such an awful feeling, I know. I sure can write you a lil something! I hope this helps and that you’re doing okay, kiddo <333 A huge thanks to @ciceroniantrash for suggesting that John’s journal include drawings and for being the best Suffering Friend ™ a girl could ask for <333

John Laurens started keeping a diary the day of his mother’s funeral. After the service and burial, when friends and family were milling about back at the house, John’s maternal grandmother found him hiding away in his room upstairs, flipping through an old photo album of him and his parents when he was an infant.

“My sweet boy,” his grandmother said. She smoothed back his curls, still short in his youth, and kissed his forehead. “I have something for you.”

John looked up from the photos. He was still young enough to be enticed by the possibility of a present. His grandmother smiled at him.

“It’s a journal, but not just any journal.” She pulled it out from her purse and he eagerly flipped it open. “You see, they’re no lines. Journals don’t have to be just words, John, they can be images.” She tapped the album still open on his lap. “And I know you like to draw.”

John had filled that journal from his grandmother years ago. He’d filled five since then, in fact, roughly one a year. And now, at sixteen, he found he needed his journal more than ever. When his mother died, he could talk about it. People knew he was sad. They understood on some level what he was going through. But this? This… feeling? His journal was the only one he could confide in.

He opened up his current journal to a blank page.

Today Alexander did the cutest ever. We were sitting in the cafeteria when he decided to use the straw from his drink then steal the one from mine and stick them under his upper lip. When he grinned at me, I lost it. Laf and Herc rolled their eyes, but I could tell they were amused.

I wanted him to put my straw back so badly. How weird is that? How fucked up am I? But lunch ended and so did my fucked up dream.

He doodled Alex with the straws in his mouth from a few different angles. He was putting the finishing touches on the last one when there was a knock on his door.

He slammed his journal shut and swiveled around in his chair. The thing about knocks at the Laurens’ household was that they were never a question. They were a courtesy. His father barged in one second later.

“John, are you doing homework?” he asked gruffly. He eyed his son’s desk, squinting at the blue notebook atop a pile of papers. “You were doodling again, were you? We talked about this, John. It was good when you were a kid and your mother… passed. But now you’re a man. Men don’t handle their feelings with doodles.”

John nodded. He knew how this went. Just play along and it’ll all be fine.

“Anyway, I came up here to let you know that you need to pick Mary Eleanor up from theatre practice or whatever the hell she does.”

“When does she get out from rehearsal?” John asked.

His father waved his hand dismissively. “I think five. I don’t know. The driver has always gotten her.”

John wanted to be angry, but he just sighed. He wasn’t even going to ask why the driver couldn’t get her today. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Mary Eleanor knew someone in the family cared about her.

“Okay, I’ll leave now,” John said.

His father nodded and left the room without another word or glance. John sank back down in his chair and put his head in his hands. It was going to be a long evening. He could feel it already.


“And that’s when I said, ‘Paul, get that curtain off of you! This isn’t The Sound of Music!” Mary Eleanor chattered as she and John walked into the house.

John shook his head, his face sore from all the smiling he’d been doing around his sister for the past half hour. At first the smile had been for show, but that never lasted long around Mary Eleanor. She had an uncanny ability to make John laugh, no matter how he was feeling.

“Niños, hice su cena. Su padre tomó su cena en su oficina.” The cook was bustling past John and his sister, clearly in a hurry. John had seen this kind of hustle before. It meant his father was in a sour mood.

“Gracias, Señora Marquez,” John replied.

John turned to Mary Eleanor. “Lava tus manos,” he said. She scampered off to clean up.

The dinner was already served, the table set. Normally it was left under a dome on the counter. His breath hitched. His father was clearly in a really bad mood.

Mary Eleanor bounded into the dining room and took her seat. John didn’t get to do the same.

“John? John!” his father hollered from his office. “Get the hell in my office this instance!”

Mary Eleanor looked up at her brother with wide eyes. He mustered up a smile for her before walking to his certain doom. As soon as he found himself on the threshold of his father’s office, he saw it.

His journal.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

His father looked up at him, no, glared, up at him. John had never seen a true glare before that moment. He swore his father’s eyes were glowing red, though he knew that part was just in his imagination.

“Do you care to explain this abomination to me?” His father growled. He grabbed the journal from his desk and flipped it open. “‘Alexander is the best person I know. The way his hair curls at the top of his head in the humidity, those tiny little curls like a halo, and his laugh, his genuine laugh, and his energy, his ability to write… I admire him. I love him. There, I said it. I love Alexander Hamilton.’”

When his father looked up from the journal, his face was bright red. “Explain,” he demanded.

“It seems like you already know.” John prayed the fear he was feeling didn’t show in his voice.

“If this is true, you’ll find yourself in a position you won’t like one bit, son.” Henry Laurens stood up and walked up to his son. He shoved the journal into John’s chest, hard. “So before you answer me, I suggest you take the evening to think it over.”

John saw his life flash before his eyes. His mother, Mary Eleanor, his father before politics became his life following the death of his wife… And he saw his future. Alexander. Alexander. Alexander.

“Dad,” John stepped forward and looked directly into his father’s eyes. “I’m gay.”

His father’s eyes widened in shock. “I told you to think this over, John!” he shouted.

“I don’t need to,” John said, his voice growing stronger with every word. “I know who I am. And if you have a problem with that––”

“Of course I have a problem with that! I thought I raised you right. I didn’t think I raised you to be a…” he looked John up and down, as if gay was oozing off of him now. “A disgrace.”

John simply nodded. “Fine. I’ll leave for the night. I’ll see you after school tomorrow.” John left his father’s office without another word and quickly ran up the stairs to grab his school books and a change of clothes.

Mary Eleanor wordlessly appeared in his doorway. “John? What happened?” Her voice was trembling.

“Dad and I just had a fight, Ellie. It’s okay.” He swung his backpack over his shoulder and gave her a hug.

“Where’re you going?”

“Alexander’s. I’ll be back after school tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she whispered, looking down at the floor.

“Hey, if you need me, call, okay?”

She nodded. John kissed the crown of her head.

He ran out of the house, ran away from his father who was screaming for him to get back in the house this instance or else! He called Alex on the way. He picked up on the third ring.

“J-Law, what’s crackin?”

John rolled his eyes. “Never call me that again.”

“Okay, I’ll cross that off the John Laurens Nickname List then.”

“Um, hey, Alex?”

“Um, hey, yeah?”

“Can I stay the night with you?”

“John, of course. Is everything okay?”

John thought over how to answer that for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Get over here and we’ll talk,” Alex said.

“Yeah,” John said, a smile spreading across his face. “Thanks, Alex.”

“John,” the other boy said, tone serious. “You’re the closest friend I got. I’d do anything for you.”

“Thank you, Alex, I’ll see you soon.” John hung up the phone and sucked in a deep breath before whispering to the air. “Oh, and Alex? I’m in love with you.” He took off in a sprint toward Alex’s, everything he’d never told the other boy propelling him forward.

He didn’t know how Alex would react to his confession, or what his dad would say come the next day. But he knew one thing. He was finally being true to himself, and that was something they could never take away.


Maybe a wee bit too early to start my August spreads on my bullet journal, but better start them now before I’m overwhelmed. I’m also posting my daily schedule because I’m so proud of myself for making all my classes fit perfectly, and I’m basically really proud of it. My mom constantly criticized it because she felt it was too much and she wasn’t understanding of how I’m taking a total of ten classes (not listed on the schedule but Applied Music & Marching Band). She didn’t understand that as a music major, these are the classes you NEED for one semester. She simply didn’t understand, and I was really upset with my schedule because she expected less, and it made me really upset because I went through alot of planning & constantly having to re-do it because classes kept getting filled. It just brought me down a ton because I was so proud of this perfect schedule for me and she tried to tell me to take less classes next semester, which in reality I can’t do because I need to be on track to transfer to USF in two years and that’s something I want to achieve.I want to get there in two years tops.

But I’m glad my friend was able to encourage me as he’s also a fellow music major like myself, and he told me that it was alright. That this was a normal schedule for a music ed major and that now I just have to work that much harder to prove my mother wrong. And I can’t wait to do just that. Because I know I can do it and I will and I honestly can’t wait for it all to start. Because I’ll be surrounded with classes I’m genuinely interested in and be surrounded with others doing just the same thing as me and thats just a great feeling. I’m going to work my butt off to prove her wrong and to show my worth.

Obsessed/Stalker {Sentence Starters}
  • "They've been following me all day, help!"
  • "You have the cutest smile when you sleep."
  • "It's never too late for stalking!"
  • "Tell me again how you're not stalking me?"
  • "I like watching you sleep."
  • "Stay away from me or I'll call the police!"
  • "It’s not stalking if you don't follow them home, right?"
  • "How did you know about that? I never told you!"
  • "Does this rag smell like chloroform to you?"
  • "I'll follow you until you love me..."
  • "Every move you make, I'll be watching you."
  • "Is that... a picture of me?"
  • "Fine, I'm a stalker. FINE!"
  • "____ thinks I'm a stalker. It's written in his/her/their journal."
  • "You're much more attractive up close than through my binoculars."
  • "There's nowhere you can hide from me. You know that, right?"
  • "Stop following me, creep!"
  • "I think you'd look better in my basement."
Why can't I stop reading Fanfiction?

(image credit)

Have you ever loved a fanfiction so much it hurts? Or told yourself “Just one more chapter” and when you next pause to drink some water, you find it’s 3 a.m.? Why do we insist on reading stories about Jily, even though we know they end up dead?

In case you’re wondering, no, you’re not a masochist actually you are, but at least you’re not alone. We have simply fallen in love with a real fairy tale.

In our messed up/not so messed up world, we often look for hope. Only we’re not so naive to believe in Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, The Little Mermaid, etc. James and Lily had real issues and problems, yet they managed to get a not so happy ending.

Also fanfiction authors are not real. Wait what? Ayesha (prongsmydeer) reveals:

Fanfiction authors are not real authors. We are not real people. We are intangible clouds of hypothetical writing drifting through computers like viruses. We can only be made observable by a blood sacrifice and an unbreakable vow to give up our heathen ways.

Fanfiction will suck you in, eat up a part of you and call you back telling you that if you look long enough, you may find that part. Of course Fanfiction is more like a chocolate addiction than the cannibalistic theory, and who doesn’t like chocolate?

Also, fanfiction authors thrive on your tears and feels. I should know, I write too.

So once you enter fanfiction and the Jily Fandom, you can’t leave. So welcome, and good luck. Oh, and did I mention that there’s a lovely fic out there? Read Commentarius, and TLAT and then go look for it.

Stay tuned for more news on The Jily Journal.

It’s the little things. The good morning smiles and laughs. The surprise greetings at lockers. The conversations that could end, but continue for hours. The remembering small details. The sweet things that are slipped into otherwise typical sarcastic banter. The good night texts because there is a difference between night and good night. All the small things. They count.
—  10:27am thoughts// people wouldn’t write songs about “all the small things” if they didn’t count as much as they do
Blog: Before Planning Your Comic (Finding a Sketchbook)

Hello! I am coming to you with a general announcement!

for all those interested in my advice as far as starting off with comics, I wanna start with the basics.

One thing I noticed since the beginning of me drawing is the issue of sketchbooks. I have been, all my life, trying to draw things that came from my imagination. I remember often being frustrated with other poeple trying to put down on paper the kinds of drawings that I wanted. this has been an issue since I was a toddler. Since then, I have went through a LOT of “drawing” books. from countless lined composition notebooks, to ruddy sketchbooks for all kind of bargain bins.

Because of this, when I really started having my passion for drawing, I would have a big mess of scraps and nowhere to find the ideas I had. It becomes a very troublesome process especially when these ideas turn into characters and stories and characters within the stories.

So when you finally have characters and stories in mind… especially for a comic to-be, it is very important to gather ALL your ideas, musings and doodling in one place, whether it be for one story or a BUNCH of stories, so long as you devote to one sketchbook and finish a whole way through, you have a good shot at continuing with your artistic promise.

Why? because you will be accustomed to taking this sketchbook everywhere! that way you never need to worry about all these sketchbooks and papers cluttering your bag to the point of not knowing which one you can bring everywhere. One thing I notice though, are these little sketchbooks. I have seen some that get sooooooo pocket sized that if the artist(s) lost their pants in the laundry mat, it could be lost forever.

I personally feel the size is really up to you but if you get smaller than A6, not only will it be straining your eyes 99.999% … of the time, the risk of losing this important piece to your creative flow.

First, I want you to find a sketchbook.

I have a thing for what I have come to understand is called perfect bound. take that name lightly because i am going to show you what I have that is considered that kind of binding.

One thing that I find important about this is that it is durable and should help for your to resist tearing out pages.

this is a good challenge for people who, like me, find comfort in tearing out pages. One thing I notice about sketchbooks its that people overuse the concept “WIP”, yet never realize they actually don’t have to finish anything in their sketchbook! sketches are for free form and everything in the book can be a mix of private and a crazy adventure. if someone has to linger on your sketchbook too long, it really isn’t much of their business. I see sketchbooks as journaling. the only reason its okay for you to pour your heart out into it is because the real details and emotions behind the markings are for your eyes ONLY. if anyone ever questions it too much, it is YOUR right to take your sketchbook back since they rather analyze than appreciate.

So by getting this “perfect” binding as seen above, it helps to know where and what is in order in your book and avoid tearing. the book is very durable due to the intense stitching. and don’t worry, if it DOES get worn down, nothing some pretty duct tape can’t handle! * v * //the tape keeps people away more anyways heehee

Also! When you finally have your tailor made sketchbook, please buy new and ACID FREE *you can tell by the smell, honestly. also it should be on the label* )


I want your name in it~! act like a glorified grammar schools student! Name AND DATE.

name can be one or more things…

Get really possessive about it, the more obvious you make it that it is your, the less BS you will get with people claiming any of that!

Whatever you can do to make it feel like your very own sketchbook! Name/sig/tag/silly customization… etc! just make sure that it is in PEN/MARKER.

and never forget the start date!

this is the start of something new and amazing! so never forget… your are making your own adventure. this old sticker of mine says “A Book is a New Adventure”

and I hand-wrote everything else. I started in the fall with this and I never have to date any other pic if I don’t NEED to. because this is the beginning and I will not put in the end year until the whole book is cover to cover filled! I don’t know how long that will take but I know as much as clear, I am celebrating creativity so I know that, so long as I have this book with me, it is mine and anything that goes into there is my rights.

this also helps to not get it lost too! it is a good way to minimize and practice restraint. only bring this book if it is in a bag… and ONLY in your hand if that is all you have to worry about!

~ ~ ~

This is really long already so this is just the first step, as soon as you get your very own sketchbook and keep in mind exclusivity… you are on your way to breaking into the “comic making” stages!

Feel free to reblog or ask questions (or you can anon too)!

Until next time!