i. I miss you. each day that you’ve been gone has felt like a bullet hole in my chest, and whenever I try to pull it out another one takes its place. I’ve missed you so much that looking at you hurts, because all it does is bring back everything I’ve ever felt for you and suddenly I can’t breathe. so whenever you look at me and I turn away, please don’t take that as an “I hate you,” but an “I hate that I can’t look at you without dying inside.”
ii. you are beautiful. you are so lovely in your own conventional way that everyone else are flecks of brown and gray. you are wildflowers in june, the eye of a hurricane, city lights at midnight, sunlight through glass. there is nothing manufactured, nothing plastic about your eyes formed from stars and the freckled marks of the earth sprayed across your cheeks.
iii. I will never leave you. I know the last time you let me in your heart I fumbled and let it break, but please forgive me. I was blindsided and weak and I will gladly spend forever making up my mistakes to you. I have always loved you and always will, it just took me a little longer to realize. but you always knew this, and if you’re still sure then say the word and I will be too.
iv. I love you. not the kind of traditional, puppy-eyed love, but the kind that breaks down walls and can be heard from miles away. the kind that romeo and juliet died for, the kind that our grandparents live for. I love you the same way the ocean loves the shoreline, and no matter how many times I am drawn away, I will always find my way back to you.
In February 2016, Marley Dias, who was 11 at the time, launched the #1000BlackGirlBooks project, collecting books featuring black girls as the main character.
Now, after collecting over 8,000 such books, Dias has decided to author a #BlackGirlBook of her own.
On Thursday, Scholastic announced that 12-year-old Dias had signed a deal with the publisher for a book due in Spring 2018.
According to a press release, the book is a “keep-it-real guide” to helping kids and preteens make their dreams come true.
“Through her smarts and ingenuity, she’s delivered a jolt of inspiration that’s sent an unstoppable shock-wave to kids everywhere who’ve stood up with Marley to shout ‘Yes!’ to the power of positive action,” Scholastic’s vice president and executive editor Andrea Pinkney said.
“In this book, Marley will share her dynamic wisdom with readers everywhere.” Read more
she was fire and rain. she sounded like confidence and smelled like virtue. she flirted with the truth and persecuted lies. she danced awkwardly and laughed too loudly, and was loved for it. she was the kind of girl that screamed what she wanted and whispered what she needed. she listened to top 40 and indie and classic rock, anything with lyrics that filled her with warmth like butterflies. she wore black leather jackets and dark red lipstick to show people the walls around her heart instead of telling them about it. she tore through books faster than lightning because words are the only way she’s learned to deal with anything. she swallowed her pain like pills and handed out pieces of her love like fliers. she loved sunsets and their pink and orange clouds, and how nature always gave us a beautiful ending to every day. she was wildflowers and bubbling springs when she loved, but teeth and flashing red moons when on her bad side. she liked to think that people were everything good and everything bad, and that she herself was some beautifully cruel mystery.
I entered the society of the craft at the age of fourteen, as an apprentice; I was forced by circumstance and driven by ingenuity to find it out for myself, as at the time it was extremely secretive and well out of the public eye.
I spent the years between fourteen and eighteen training in my craft under elders who encouraged my explorations and taught me not merely to participate in the society’s activities but also to understand them, engage fully as a critic of them, and defend its membership from assault internal and external. I eventually attended a university recommended to me by an older member who had previously attended and who helped me apply. Afterward, I returned to the society and continued my studies for many years, forming strong bonds with fellow members and eventually mentoring younger members myself.
The society has helped me to find housing, employment, and rare experiences that have contributed to my education and aesthetic. I have had many opportunities to pass on my experiences and help to open membership to a wider community than I could have dreamed would find us twenty years previous.
My education in the human experience and the majority of my knowledge of the continuity of culture comes from time spent within the society since I was inducted as a young person. My interests within the organization have varied through the years, but never my dedication to it or my efforts to improve its reach and the quality of its membership.
If fandom were described the way an 18th century secret society was described.
As close as I can reckon, today is my 22nd anniversary in fandom, dated from the first time I logged onto alt.tv.x-files.creative in 1995.
you looked over across the room at her. and there she was. her head tossed back, long hair flipped over one shoulder to frame the right side of her face. she is laughing, showing off all of her teeth, her nose scrunched up in the way you used to love. her eyes meet yours for a split second, and then it hits you. it’s her, it’s been her the day she walked into your English class two years ago. but then she’s looking away, the same smile still on her face, and you know that she’s never going to be yours again.
In the small town of Sunderland, Mass., is a 300-year-old, family-run plot of land that fuses fine art and farming.
Mike Wissemann’s 8-acre cornfield maze is a feat of ingenuity, with carefully planned and executed stalk-formed replicas of notables such as the Mona Lisa, Albert Einstein and Salvador Dalí.
But how do those pictures come to life? Maybe you remember Skill-o-Gram puzzles, in which the clues are squares that have labels like A-4 or F-5, each one holding part of the design. When those parts are copied into a blank grid, they create a whole picture.
Corn is also planted on a grid. By breaking the field into squares on paper or computer, each one holding a piece of the picture, and scaling up, you’ve got a blueprint. But in a cornfield, the picture is pixelated, so it’s kind of like creating a giant halftone photo, using the density of the corn to make the image darker or lighter.
At Treinen farm in Lodi, Wis., the maze’s theme and method are much different. Designer Angie Treinen was inspired this year by all of the cute things she found on the Internet: ninja kittens, cupcakes with faces, unicorns, narwhals and rainbows. Her style is based on the Japanese art style known as “Kawaii,” which means “cute.”
Treinen’s is a century-old, family-run farm. About 15 of the farm’s 200 acres are devoted to the corn maze. Here, maze cutting is still designed and executed the old-fashioned way, by using a lot of graph paper and elbow grease.
i’ve met someone else. he’s nothing like you. he’s all debates on whether tea or coffee is better, jazz music, clammy hands when he’s nervous and baseball caps. he’s nothing like you. he is fresh air seeping into my toxin filled lungs, which are all thanks to you. he’s nothing like you. I think that’s why i like him.
i’ve learned not to expect anything from men too early. they always seem to come up short on making spectacular impressions. we’re still at bashful sideways glances, flushed cheeks and holding hands to fill the silence, and so far it has been enough. i remember when you and i went to the beach and i kissed you ankle-deep in ocean water. you tasted like salt and oranges and smoke, and i thought it was the most heavenly thing i’d ever tasted. maybe i was wrong. because lately i’ve been tasting spring rain and strawberries and something bubbly and it’s not as bittersweet as i thought it would be.
i don’t love him. it’s impossible for me to love him now, because you will still enter my mind more frequently than i’d like and leave my hands shaking. but i like the way his smile mixes my insides so i have to smile back, and the way his fingers brush lightly over mine when he wants to hold my hand. i don’t love him, but he makes me feel nervous and giddy, just the way early love should feel. i don’t love him, but i’m not sure if i still love you.