journalism fail

anonymous asked:

Your journal entries never fail to make me smile, I love it. I hope you will never stop writing

I’ll try to write for as long as I can! Thank you love!

*I kinda wanted to write a book but idk*

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[ 20th February 2017 ] February is almost over and I have yet to do something productive with my life,,,,, why am I like this ;-;
This spread is from 2 weeks ago and I took the pictures with a different background so any thoughts??

✨ Inspired by @studykouffee (my mom) and @studyrose (the really cool aunt)


studygram

Questions have inevitably started to be asked: who dug up those details about David Dao’s apparent medical misdemeanour or the gay sex he supposedly had with a younger man, and why? Did they even check that those details related to the David Dao who was dragged off Flight 3411 in Chicago? There is presently confusion about whether the man on the United flight was actually David Thanh Duc Dao, quite possibly another person entirely to David Anh Duy Dao, the man with the criminal records.
— 

Is the United Airlines man being smeared in the media even the right David Dao? It shouldn’t matter - independent.co.uk

Apparently, the David Dao with the supposed criminal past (not that it should even MATTER in this discussion) may NOT even be the same person who was dragged off the United flight. 

Yeah, it’s definitely Lawyering Time™ !

Headphones in, world out. It’s one of his favorite life philosophies and probably also the name of a song he’s never heard of. How problematic is it to be this young and live under a rock? Lost in a haze of music and mild concern for his sanity, he startles when a pile of crumpled papers flutters onto the table.

He looks up and there she is. Tentative, wary, remorseful, determined, and half a dozen other emotions all at once. It takes his breath away. She’s beautiful. Always so beautiful.

He waits for her words but they don’t come. She remains standing still in front of him, silent and guarded.

“What is all this?” The question is gentle, curious even. With a little luck, his desperation hasn’t come across. Please let her be here to fix this. Please.

She drops into the empty seat in front of him and offers him a shy smile and his heart stutters. He hasn’t smiled himself in weeks, let alone seen hers, and he swears the entire coffee shop can probably hear his heart pounding.

“It’s all of my failed apologies. Journal entries, letters, poems. I tried everything and I just couldn’t. I’m not good with words and I never have been. But you still deserve all of them. And I just…here’s the evidence of all of my attempts. I fell short, but I wanted you to know: I’m more sorry than a simple apology is capable of communicating.”

“Not good with words? That sounded pretty good to me.” He nods his head in acceptance and the cloud of tension hovering above their heads bursts into raindrops of relief and hope. He’s already forgiven her and they both know it.

“I rehearsed it,” she quietly admits.

“You also wrote poetry for me,” he reminds her with a grin. Grudge holding has never been his style and the fact that she’s finally here, with her heart on her sleeve, means the world to him and more.

“About that…you should maybe probably actually not read all of that. It’s really bad. I wanted you to have them on principle, but it’s all pretty terrible.”

He picks up a bright orange sticky note and laughs in agreement, amusement coloring his voice. “Is this a haiku? I don’t even think you got the number of syllables right.”

She smacks his hand lightly with his empty coffee cup and laughs with him, thankfulness shining in her wet, brown eyes.

He reaches for her hand the same moment she extends it and then everything else fades leaving just them: safe behind the shield of his enduring forgiveness and radical empathy. 

Prompt for @lameguac - I hope this is somewhat close to what you were looking for & thanks for encouraging me to try something a little new!

Debunking studyblr stereotypes, or something like that

I see a lot of new studyblrs worrying about these things and it really bothers me that these are worries at all. This is not me railing against the many studyblrs who are fortunate enough to have or happen to have all the supposed “studyblr” things, but rather the point of view as a blogger who feels entirely at home, supported, and accepted in the community, and who is also paying for college. I’m opting not to use a read more, because I feel like read mores get disregarded half the time.

To start with, I will unabashedly admit that I use few, if any, of the studying techniques touted by the studyblr community. They just don’t work for me, and that’s cool. I don’t have the time/energy/ability to do mind maps and aesthetic notes, I don’t have the discipline to do pomodoros, and my attempt at bullet journaling failed within a few days. I have a cute school planner, but to be honest as the weeks approached finals I legitimately did not write anything in it.

As for stationery. My current favorite pen is this Paper Mate Write Bros. pen my friend lent me in psych class one day. Yup, you know the ones I’m talking about — the ones that schools stock in bulk because it’s $2 for 12 pens, and $7 for 60. The closest I ever got to “studyblr” was the Pilot G2′s, which I like, but I still far prefer my super cheap alternatives. I also got a giant bag of similar pens (Bic, Paper Mate, and Staples) for free on Freecycle, and I’m 1000% content with that collection. I didn’t buy anything new except $5 worth of bargain school supplies this year (some notebooks and filler paper). I reuse old notebooks to make filler paper. A lot of my binders and folders are dog-eared, but I mean they work. I also like the college-ruled notebooks you can get at like pharmacies and generic brands — no fancy dotted, high quality paper for me! Oh, and I only have Mildliners and Fineliners because a follower sent them to me. I love them, particularly the thought behind them, but I do still revert back to my Bic highlighters and Paper Mate pens. Look, if someone offered to send me stationery (which I don’t need at this point), I would ask for a white-out pen (which I received!! Thank you!), maybe a couple new erasers, a Sharpie or two, and if I’m really splurging, a 60-pack of those Paper Mate pens. (((*cough*mywishlist*cough*))

Now let’s talk electronics. I have a MacBook Pro from 2011 that I received as a gift when I started high school. It’s literally imploding, like each of its functions are gradually falling apart (first the battery went to shit, and now the CD drive doesn’t work). It’s a Mac, but honestly as soon as this one dies — and I intend to stretch out its life as long as humanly possible — I’m going straight for a $200 Chromebook or other PC laptop. Let’s be real, literally all I need it for is to go online and tote around with me, and I don’t even have $500 to spare. Plus, using messages/FaceTime on my Mac slows it down, so there’s no real reason to hold onto the Mac OS X. I bought my iPhone 5s when I was 18 (two years ago) with my own money, paid cash up front. It’s sluggish now, but like my old MacBook, I’m seeing if I can make it last through til grad school. And the idea of having a high quality camera is laughable. I film silly little, hopefully relatable vlogs on my iPhone, edit them, and upload them to Google Drive.

Also, I don’t have succulents; I’d kill them by mistake. I don’t make cute healthy meals; if I make ramen it’s a huge deal. I’ve had the same twin bed and bedsheets MY ENTIRE LIFE and not a single one is white. My desk is a hand-me-down wooden monster and it’s got stains all over it.

Here’s the other important thing. Do I feel remotely bad or envious of studyblrs with all this fancy stationery, who can be so productive? Frankly, no. I think it’s awesome they have everything they need, and that it works for them. But being a studyblr is about SO MUCH MORE than materials and studyspo. I appreciate the “real studyblr” movement that happened a little while ago, but I dislike the divide it created at all. Live and let live, right? The only reason I’d want a pretty new MacBook Air is because it probably isn’t as slow as mine. I wouldn’t reject Muji stationery or pens, but I don’t really feel any desire for them. And much as I admire others for being able to do habit trackers and bullet journaling, it’s not like I sit around wishing I could do it too. I mean, I can watch professional dancers all I want, and appreciate their beauty and ability, but I’m not going to go home and berate myself for not being able to do the same thing. They’re doing what they enjoy doing, same as I do.

MY POINT IS, to all these new studyblrs who are worried that they don’t have what it takes to be a studyblr, BRO DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT. I’m relatively well known and respected in the community, and we’ve just listed all the ways I’ve breached every single fabricated studyblr “rule” — so if I can do that and get away with it, you certainly can too.

“Shoreline” by Andy Leech


AC/DC was blaring from the car’s speakers, the volume high enough it could be heard by the other cars that they would sometimes passed on the long interstate road they were traveling on. The music choice that played was for the sole purpose of keeping the two males within the car awake. Neither had slept well, and Gon could feel the guilt from that very fact eating away at him as he nibbled on some chocolate covered peanuts.

After all, when they had decided to stop at some rest stop to sleep last night, he couldn’t. No matter how many times Gon shut his eyes, sleep wouldn’t come to him. All that did were dark thoughts of waking up confused and the feeling of something lingering on him when there wasn’t anyone really there. He was paranoid, like most nights, and the medication wasn’t taking effect fast enough.

Knowing this, was the reason Ging stayed up with his son until sleep finally took over Gon’s younger form. It was also the reason that Gon had guilt pressing down on him while he watched the trees and mountains rush by due to the speed that Ging always drove at. He shouldn’t have tossed and turned so much, Gon’s mind kept telling him that as he chewed and swallowed a few more snacks to make his meal for that day.

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Eric Harris journal writings about Humanity

He said that everything apart from science and maths is manmade, he believed that because the lack of people who are aware and that realise this, that I personally believe this is why he labelled himself as “Godlike” in his own meaning as being aware that laws are made solely by other humans and that it does not dictate the laws of nature and that he was above people in being aware about how the world works in a natural way beyond society and modern human traditions and the human race being limited from their true natural free will. And also because humans no longer use or need basic survival skills and instincts they were given from birth apart from the sexual desire to mate and human bodily needs such as eating and whatever, we no longer need to hunt and kill to survive or use our brains for learning strategies of survival that it is causing humans to actually become dumber and weaker instead of become better and stronger beings that think for ourselves outside of Laws and authority. And that We adapt to a manmade society and way of life which is raising generations of humans to become dumber and weaker and less self aware because humans no longer need to live constantly aware of their environment in order to survive but instead follow strict rules that have been enforced onto the majority by other human beings that make up governments in order to control people and make people live their way of life instead of their own way of life in entirety. Many people do not acknowledge this part of Erics journal and fail to realise what an important part it played in the events that followed.

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He’s fat… He said his name is Hugh Mungus, and he’s fat. He gestured toward his belly and said his name is Hugh Mungus

IT”S FUNNY

JUST FUCKING LAUGH

Originally posted by leeloosmultipass

'cause you know I'm coming back

Author: @jazzfic

Rating: T


Beach blond, they called it. Bright, sandy locks, cured by the saltwater and turned into curling waves that stood up at all angles on his head. It was a ridiculous sight. I watched as he came running from the water, stopped a few feet from us, and shook his head and those locks of hair like a dog.

Beside me, Prim jerked up from her book, a fast, indignant flash taking hold of her eyes. “Katniss!” She held up the novel by its tattered edges. “How am I supposed to finish this chapter when Gatsby’s all wet?!”

I swallowed my response, not bothering any sort of attempt at convincing my sister that a beach in the height of summer was as far removed from the library as any place could be. Besides, she’d been the one to drag me out here, at once at odds with her personality and at the same time fitting in like a charm dropped in the sand. Prim fit in anywhere. Everyone loved her, everyone smiled down at her. Not like me. I hated it here. I bristled in the heat, became a flat-sided version of myself, shimmering mirage-like and unnoticed. The beach bunnies hid their laughter at the sight of me, nearly fully clothed on a plain white towel, not a bikini in sight. In that summer, 1977, barely a year having breathed from my father’s death and my mother’s withdrawal from my and Prim’s life, the girls on this beach and the guys they sidled up to, they each of them looked like gods and goddesses. Sleek, sly, tanned beauties, eyeballing my plain braid and knowing, as I did, that we did not, nor would ever, belong.

But he didn’t notice us. Of course he didn’t. He was oblivious to everything but the board under his arm and the wide smiles of the group of surfer friends around him. He was seventeen, like me. Seventeen and free, a cliché of summer, a cliché of a boy. Standing shorter that his co-conspirators of the waves, but built solid, like he knew his place, knew the water; no smooth-talking dude this one; I imagined his friends were sea turtles and dolphins, that he sang to them as he paddled out beneath the sky. And that he was kinder for it.

God, but I hated the sight of him.

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