ski aspen

8

Boom then crash, the shattering of glass
I dive to the floor, busting my ass
The hell was that
Was all that I say
Then I see the pool of blood
Then I see my mom she’s dead
No emotion in the commotion
I wasn’t even sad, even when I learned the bullet was meant for my dad
Vietnam made pops crazy he was already half-dead
So why couldn’t that’d be him that got shot in the head?
All the news that fits the print
Momma’s death went unreported not a whiff or word or hint
They don’t care about us niggers is how my pops explained it
But I didn’t know I was a nigga till my dad proclaimed it
Six months later my pops is dead too
Drug-related shots fired his skin turned cold blue
On the news that night the President’s wife got a new hair-do
The news guy said “I like it how about you?”
No word about my pops in the Post or on CBS, why was that you ask?
Take a fucking guess
And yeah why is that, that’s what politicians should be asking
But who got time for questions when you all skiing up on Aspen?
Broads get gunshots to the head and all y'all serving us is Asprin
My momma so lovely she’d have made your head spin
Level the playing field and y'all will see who’ll really win
And yeah I got anger
But I don’t let it take me down, my momma taught me better
And she holds me up when I fall down
Rest in peace moms, don’t worry about your son
Some day I’ll make you proud because yeah I am the one.

- Ezekiel (The Get Down).

boom, then crash,
the shattering of glass.
i dive to the floor,
busting my ass.

“the hell was that?”
was all that i said.
then i seen the pool of blood,
then i seen my moms was dead.

no emotion in the commotion,
i wasn’t even sad,
even when i learned that the
bullet was meant for my dad.

vietnam made pops crazy,
he was already half - dead.
so why couldn’t that’d be him
that got shot in the head?

all the news that fits the print,
momma’s death went unreported,
not a whiff, word or hint.

“they don’t care about us niggers,”
is how my pops explained it.
but i didn’t know i was a nigger
until my dad proclaimed it.

six months later,
my pops was dead too.
drug - related shots fired,
his skin turned cold blue.

on the news that night
the presidents wife got a
new hair - do.
the news guy said,
“i like it, how about you?”

no word about my pops
in the post or on cbs
why was that, you ask?
take a fucking guess.

and yeah, why is that?
that’s what politicians
should be asking.

but who got time for
questions when you all
skiing up on aspen?

broads get gunshots to
the head and all y'all
serving us is aspirin.

my momma was so lovely
she’d have made your
head spin.

level the playing field
and y'all will see who’ll
really win.

and yeah i got anger,
but i don’t let it take
me down cause my momma
taught me better.

and she holds me up
when i fall down.
rest in peace moms,
don’t worry about your
son.

some day i’ll make you
proud, because yeah,
i am the one.

—  ezekiel figuero (the get down),
zeke’s poem (i am the one).
10

the get down appreciation week: (day 4) favorite scene - Zeke’s poem

they don’t care about us niggers,” is how my pops explained it. but I didn’t know I was a nigga until my dad proclaimed it. six months later my pops was dead, too. drug-related shots fired, his skin turned cold blue. on the news that night the president’s wife got a new hair-do. the news guy said ”I like it, how about you?” no word about my pops in the post or on cbs. why was that, you ask? take a fucking guess. and yeah, why is that? that’s what politicians should be asking. but who’s got time for questions when y’all skiing up on aspen? broads get gunshot to the head and all y’all serving us is aspirin. my momma was so lovely she would have made your head spin. level the playing field and y’all will see who will really win. and yeah I got anger, but I don’t let it take me down cause my momma taught me better. and she holds me up when I fall down. rest in peace moms, don’t worry about your son. some day I’ll make you proud, because, yeah, I am the one.”

Underneath the cut is a guide to WHAT BEING EXTREMELY WEALTHY IS LIKE. I did not write this. I saw this on reddit. It is cut into net worths. I just figured it would be helpful for some of you since rich characters are popular. This guide splits it up in an understandable way! Please like/reblog this guide if you found it helpful!

Keep reading

Taken on a snowy hike yesterday. Living next to the wilderness has given me a greater appreciation for the real-world magic that still exists in these mountains and trees, and what we stand to lose without proper management of these natural resources. Aspen, CO. 

Tyler Dillot Gets In Shape


Tyler Dillot was 27 years old, not good looking, and very much “out of shape.” The last time he had been “in shape” was back in high school at Regis Prep when he had been on the track team. Back then he had gone by Ty, the Dill Man, or Dildo (only by his closest companions). Then college had come and gone, as had his physique and his innocence, and then he became “out of shape.” In fact there was no shape to him. He wasn’t a rhombus or a quadrilateral or even a parallelogram. He was a torso and limbs. But he was determined to make a change.


It was a Calvin Klein advertisement that prompted the sudden urge for physical enlightenment. The billboard was on the corner of East Houston and Lafayette and depicted a half naked woman and half naked man embracing while only wearing Calvin Klein underwear.  The half naked woman was beautiful and Tyler had seen her before on some Instagram feed on one of his late night rabbit holes, but the man on the billboard was otherworldly. The man’s body was rippling with muscle, and Tyler very quickly became aware of how sweaty he was under his thin t-shirt, even though it was only 65 degrees out and breezy and not even mid April and all he had done that Saturday morning was wake up at 11:20, eat a bagel, drink an almond latte with an extra shot of espresso, check Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook, then Instagram again. He could feel a pimple forming on the back of his neck.


“I am going to join a gym,” he announced to the world.


“Shut up,” said a stranger passing by.


Later that day he had joined Equinox ($200 initiation fee, $250 per month), bought a new pair of Nike Free Run Trainers ($130), three pair of Nike Flex Running shorts ($45 per pair), and three Under Armour t-shirts ($25 each).


He had wanted to get Nike shirts as well, for he hated mixing brands almost as much as he hated wearing brands, but the Nike tops were all too tight on his chest and made his nipples feel exposed. Being self conscious about ones nipples is one of the worst things in the world, aside from global hunger and YouTube personalities who play the ukulele, so he went with the Under Armour shirts which were more forgiving on both his physique and his wallet.


He would have to phone home and let his father know about the additional charges to the card, but he was still skiing in Aspen and wouldn’t be home for another week. The charges wouldn’t be an issue, he just wanted his father to know so he could be proud of his son for the effort. His father was rich and the rich are always happy when their children spend money. If they don’t have any children, they spend their money on Porsches or plastic surgery, both of which have a near 100% success rate.


Tyler had planned on getting into the gym early the next morning but had drank too much that evening at Erik Brennan’s 32nd birthday party. Erik was from an improv class Tyler had taken when he first moved to the city, and had recently made a video where he interviewed people on the street and asked them what their favorite sexual positions were. Then Erik explained to them if they were subconsciously sexist or not. The video had gone viral and been featured in both Vox and Bustle that morning and subsequently retweeted by Ellen. It was important work and Tyler had shared it on his own Facebook page with the caption “funny + thought provoking work = Erik Brennan.”


The party was at a Mexican bar in the East Village, and Tyler had a few beers, said hi to Erik, had two shots of tequila, sang Erik happy birthday, had a Sangria, said bye to Erik, then ate 2 slices of pizza (one sausage, one sausage and pepperoni), and left at 2 AM. When he got back he ate a spoon of peanut butter straight from the jar (for protein) and fallen asleep.


He woke at 11 AM, checked Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, than Instagram again, where he liked one of Erik’s photos from the party, taken after he left. “Good friends, good timesss” he commented. Then he got dressed and went to the gym, stopping only to purchase a green drink ($7), a Smart Water ($4), and a protein bar ($3).


Equinox was packed, like church on a Sunday morning, only with more self-righteousness and sweat and judgment, and Tyler felt as if everyone was staring at his nipples. He had planned on pairing with a physical trainer but none were available when he arrived at noon, so he sojourned into the unknown, alone.


The treadmills were all full, as were the ellipticals, and he briefly entertained the idea of trying out the rowing machine, before realizing he had never rowed a boat in real life, why would he start on a lie. So he made his way to the floor of free weights and barbells.


Tyler did a few reps on each arm of the twenty-pound dumbbell then moved over to one of the benches where a muscular man with a tan was just finishing up a set with a large amount of weight. He was grunting and panting as if mid-coitus, and when he finished he let out a moan of pleasure Tyler had never released in all of his life.


“Are you finished with the bench?” Tyler asked.


The tan man took one of his headphones out.


“What?” he replied.


“Are you finished with the bench?” Tyler repeated himself, a little louder this time.


“No need to yell bro, all yours,” the man with the tan said as he walked away. Tyler watched him make his way over to the water fountain and noticed a tattoo on the back of his bulging neck. “For Strength & Honor” it read in a cursive font worthy of an encyclical.


Tyler smirked and made a joke in his head about how any neck tattoo should really just say “unemployable,” then thought about tweeting it and ending up typing it out and saving it in his drafts to tweet out later that day when he was likely to get better circulation.


He sat on the bench and checked the weight on either side of the bar. It was 150 pounds, forty pounds less than what he weighed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to do any reps of it, but he was curious as to see how heavy 150 pounds really was.


“For strength and honor,” he whispered to himself, chuckling.


He lay back, ducking his head to fit under the bar. He reached up and gripped the steel, still wet with sweat from the tan man’s hands. He exhaled then pushed up slightly. The bar didn’t budge. Then he pushed slightly harder and felt it move a bit. Finally, with a grunt like a small boar, he pushed up with all his might. He felt it lift up a little then raise into the air just an inch.


The bar was already wet from the tan man’s hands, and Tyler’s soft palms were oily and sweaty and added to the steel’s slippery state, and so as slippery things often do, the bar slipped.  


It fell from his grasp and rolled just over the edge of the cross beams meant to hold the bar secure. 150 pounds came crashing down onto Tyler’s throat and crushed his windpipe, severing his intake of air. He screamed but nothing came out and the tan man with the tattoo couldn’t hear him due to his headphones being noise-cancelling. 


By the time he noticed it was no use. Tyler was finally in shape. 

2

Once, when the family was skiing in Aspen, John thought JonBenet was skiing at too fast a speed and could lose control. He remembers them being at the top of an advanced run on a clear day of vivid blue skies and sunlight and snow. The grandeur of the Colorado Rockies was all around them, and here was his little girl, raicing her way down the mountaints. He skied down and tackeled her.

“Man, was she mad,” he remembered, smiling. They had both face-planted in the snow. JonBenet looked around, startled, trying to fire out what happened. Then, spurtting with indignation, she demanded, “Dad, did you do that? I was just getting going!”

“JonBenet, you were going too fast. You could have gotten hurt.”

“No. Only if I couldn’t stop. I could stop.”

“Well,” her dad answered, “I’d like you to slow down a bit.”

They helped eachother up and brushed themsevles off, and then off they went, skiing again. JonBenet took off just as quickly, but this time her dad was very close behind.

Flying Metal Deathtrap (Connor Murphy x Reader)

WC: 1,154

Warnings: Language and planes

Request: connor x reader and its connors first time on a plane?? thank u!!

Larry and Cynthia weren’t the best parents in the world. They tried, they really did, but sometimes Connor made it difficult. But they wanted their son to be happy, and Connor knew that. That’s why he used that to his advantage and got you to come on the annual family vacation.

This year Connor’s parents wanted to go to the Grand Canyon. Connor agreed to it, they could be asking him to go to a nuclear waste plant and he’d say yes as long as you were there. But for some ungodly reason, they decided to fly to Arizona this year. Usually then drove on their trips to Aspen to ski, he had no clue as to why they decided to fly this year.

Keep reading